Your daughter, Jenean, is walking ahead, her head high, her steps firm, as if her 9-year body were saying "What Daddy's done in leaving us shall not hurt the way I walk, shall not hurt this grace I am . . . ." And you look up out of your divorce into a sky of clouds driven darkly -- save where suddenly dear cornflower radiance startles through. Jenean looks back to smile at you. Blue is the co lour of the way she walks . . . .