She held the mask in her outstretched hands, old hands, much older than the hands that took it from her. The young man studied its form for a moment, and then asked the old woman, 'How can this mask change my mind? How could something so colorless, so inanimate, be any source of comfort for my sorrow?'�
Her wrinkles shifted, and her expression showed the look of confidence that knowledge brings. 'I suggest you put it on and find out.'�
He looked it over briefly again before raising it up, and just before it touched his face he realized how deep his grief would be when nothing happened, and then it was on. He felt its warmth and then opened his eyes.
He was looking at a field of flowers, saw it as if he were standing at it's edge, saw it's red and yellow and orange flowers against the green of the forest behind it with trees reaching up to a beautiful blue sky, and she was here. She was here, in this place, in this mask and she was whole and well and glowing.
'You cannot stay here long, but this one time will remind you that I am always with you,'� she said. 'The mask will always remind you.'�
When it was time to leave, he reluctantly lowered the mask from his face to find it was no longer the dull color of his empty life, now it swirled with the colors of love and beauty and hope. To look at it was to be there again and to feel great joy. He turned to face the old woman and could find no words.
She looked almost smug as she pocketed his money, smiled, and walked away.

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