The shop in that cascade of early daylight was a place for chance and fate to dance.
The shop was a treasure trove because it was curated by a human-treasure.
It was the kind of shop you wondered about, that you felt your soles move toward, as if in there upon a shelf was a piece of your own life-puzzle.
The shop existed as if to give the daydreams of Miss May to the village, to show us what she found so beautiful in the world.
And there they were, the antiques, the gems of times past, the expressions of human souls that echo our own. Darcy wandered between them, taking in the curves of each, letting her brain think as perhaps the makers did. To her, each one of them was tiny time machine, or perhaps a window into other eras and they ways they related to God and nature.