Past Sleeping Sisters

One girl in a room with brown wooden bunks and three sisters lying askew in their own beds, breathing softly through dreams and rag-doll sleep, their abandoned bodies heaped in strange positions under quilts and on pillows soft with their puffing breaths.  Shifting cool light and quiet moments before sunup tick one by one past her.  Too much of a peculiar and succulent dawn outside, too curious a mind, too restless a body.  She is moving silently past the slumbering small sisters, to see, to watch, to be out in the world in solitude.