Shariing is neither male nor female nor do those words exist. Shariing moves slowly out to the porch and down the steps to the garden. The garden exists even though the word does not. Shariing carries a mantle of electric current draped down the back and worn like a long cloak. The garden shimmers and flowers electric fire-works as Shariing passes down the lane. The garden is an endless aurora of color, which mixes flowers and trees with an electric background.
At the other end of the lane, a form moves toward Shariing. The form resembles Shariing in many ways, with only slight differences. The garden responds to this being with the same show of effects. The two meet in the middle of the orchids. They see into and through all there is. They probe each other for something they might be missing, but in the end they walk separate ways.
Shariing enters her study and sits on an air form, created for that need. Shariing looks intently to the empty space; a flat, hard surface; then appears the unfocused image of clean, white sheet of paper which shortly thereafter becomes matter. Shariing grunts from the throat and then out of the mouth. The paper waits. A flower appears in the center and moves to one side and toward the top of the sheet. The flower changes size until it stops. Several flowers join the first and array themselves on the sheet until the paper is full.
Shariing looks away and everything on the sheet disappears. Shariing stands and moves around the room and sits again rubbing an eye; looks at the sheet and grumbles; strange markings appear upon it, and the color changes to an off-white. Then everything disappears and Shariing walks alone into the garden and gazes at the water pools.
Shariing isn’t hungry because Shariing doesn’t eat. The words don’t even exist that could allow for it. Shariing does not eat and does not pass any waste because there is no waste, because there is really nothing. Shariing sees a reflection in the quiet pool: hands, arms, legs, torso and head; clothed in emerald rich garments, which hang, like fog from the frame that Shariing claims; the frame could be like anything. Also Shariing’s frame does not terminate eloquently: the outer edge merely blurs into an electric background, and sometimes Shariing looks like a flower. Sometimes Shariing is a flower. Many times lately, it's made no difference.
HEN the light came on overhead, Andrew tightened every muscle in his body, making sure not to stop breathing entirely in case he couldn’t hold it. This had been a problem in the past. “Andrew!” his mother screamed. She didn’t know he was hiding in this particular closet, and had been yelling after him all around the house for the last twenty minutes. 
