She remembered the high tower of gull-white stone bowing into the fresh cerulean morning sky close to the sea, closer to the bay. 
        So high it was there existed only cirrus and dark-winged frigate birds between it and spruce green unspruced hills of Oakland beyond the water. Below the white, other regions of the massive structure catered to lesser beings, both guests and businessmen, but high up  in the smooth white where it cornered to ensure all the thriving city a banquet before her,  there she had existed, grown, like a fairy princess cupped in petals scented through time  in the sun she danced on velvet carpeting, sipped tea, tested sliced ivory pear with the tip of her pale tongue. 
        Music in the evenings issued from her mother's harp, her aunt's piano, and the freighters crossing out to sea. 
Then she journeyed south and with her vested father, high-collared, in polished boots,  had toured the gardens of the southland warm, so mellow, all inherent tans, turquoises, grays, all mellow, soft, gently hued in the warmth, in the mild and lilting breezes which came from the sea in the afternoons and brushed the orchards and the geese and scarcely rustled palms, went softly riffling through pepper trees reminding her of her mother's fingers music through the shining leaves. 
        Autumn afternoons the redcars rumbled from the flat to the bases of the cupping hills. Horses proud in duty flashed their tails and tossed their heads; their eyes of plum or sepia 
were like kings' and polo stars'. 
        It was an amazing time.