Silk ... who would wear silk in the rain?

Lying on the wet steps, Jane had no idea how long she had been unconscious, or for that matter, where she was. All she knew was it was getting dark, she had a large bleeding bump on her forehead, and she was soaked to the bone. With some effort, she carefully rolled her head to one side and surveyed her surroundings. Above her was a metal pipe set in cement that served as a handrail for the steps. Grabbing it for balance, she raised her shoulders slightly for a better look.

Several metal benches dotted a wide grassy area; between them was some sort of metal telescope and beyond that a stone wall. Behind her were the granite steps that led up to the parking lot. Her car was right where she left it. That's right; I'm at a scenic overlook. Her mind was beginning to focus. I'm at a scenic overlook in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina. Struggling to orient herself, she saw the events that led her to this spot flashing behind her eyes in gut-twisting little vignettes. It took only seconds before full memory came flooding back.

Jane squeezed her eyes tightly shut trying to blot out the advancing pictures, but it did no good. The recall was bright and clear. There was a shot of her standing in her editor's office at the newspaper the day she got laid off. Another vivid snippet showed her live-in boyfriend telling her, yet again, how much better off she'd be if she just let him run her life. Several other images showed her sitting zombie-like, nurturing the nagging feeling that she was missing the point of life and the key was just beyond her reach. Then, as an added bonus, there were several bits and pieces of her praying to a so-far silent God for direction and clarity. Those particular scraps shot ripples of anger and despair through her in waves.

Jane grimaced at the recollections. Well, I'm alive and I know who I am. My luck, I can't even manage a small case of amnesia. Jane slowly rolled herself into a sitting position to take stock of her injuries. Her inquiring hands found a throbbing forehead and a couple of matching scrapes that her shins suffered when they slid over step number six. She was a bit dizzy so she sat motionless, still clinging to the metal rail, and waited for the sensations to pass. The bump on her forehead was the size of a ping pong ball but the cut wasn't deep. The rain mixing with what little blood there was gave the illusion of a much more grave injury. Jane wiped at her face with the hem of her blouse. Having checked out the physical, she began taking stock of her mental condition.

Discontent had been Jane's companion for a long time now, ever since her life had digressed into one long series of dramas and disappointments. This wasn't the way she planned it would go. Plowing through her days like a vehicle that was missing its steering wheel or a boat without a rudder, she was never quite in control. For all her best-laid plans, life seemed determined to waft along on whatever fickle breeze of chance blew her way. She had lost her connection, lost the ability to grasp the meaning of life and her purpose in it — that she was here for a reason.

Nothing was turning out the way she wanted it to, the way she used to see it in her dreams, and she was angry. Angry with her journalism degree: for all the long years of education, she still hadn't written anything that mattered. She was livid with her boyfriend for not being the man she needed him to be. She was outraged that all she thought her life could be was evaporatin