Publisher's Synopsis
The light was pulling me away, and I was going, willfully, as deliberately as possible. I swirled through a tunnel of lights, so brilliant that they should have been painfully blinding, but did not blind me. The colors were so intense that no artist alive or dead would be able to describe them. The greens were greener than any green in Ireland. The reds more vivid and alive than any gypsy could imagine. The yellows, tons of yellows and gold, were beyond sunlight, and the blue, ah the blues. The blues were everywhere, mixed in with all the other colors, swirling, twirling around me, a tornado of lights and color. There were purples, indigos, light blue, blue-green, turquoise, Spanish blue, lavender-blue and blues bluer than the sea, bluer than the sky, bluer than a soul. In the middle of the swirling, curling, twirling tornado of colors was the barest hint of a body, a shadow, more than a shadow, less than real.
