Rani unravels a two-foot soft, red thread from her jeans and stretches it above her head, stretches it into the sky.

"Gavin, come look."

I stand with her, looking up, tracking the thread, seeing tiny wisps curling from the side, the thread rotating in her fingers, shifting the focus in my eyes from her right hand to the string's high point in her left. My eyes go fuzzy trying to keep up as she lifts and slowly twists the thread, stretching it. I'm aware of its elasticity, and its energy that stops her tug from going too far.

We stare amazed at this thread for several minutes then she laughs and stuffs it in her pocket.