My droopy muse

She ran outside into the backyard with her multicoloured iridescent robes flowing about her as usual to watch the meteor shower with me and capture some inspiration. We climbed the radio tower onto the roof of my house and stood there for a good half hour hoping for the clouds to clear so that we may see the masses of burning rock streaking their way through our atmosphere and charging this otherwise ordinary night with the prospect of unnanounced cosmic death. She looked at me and induced in me a mind's-eye response; in my head I was already riding a metor like I had seen on so many low-budget action films and science documentaries about the cosmos. Except this time I was engaged. She smiled, knowing that her work was beginning. Soon I would be quivering with anxiety, eager to get to a typing mechanism or notepad and try to immortalize these pangs striking my stomach but really localized in the cerebral cortex. The clouds, too, were beginning to clear, and I thought that I saw on the northern horizon the ascendant for I-know-not-what. She began to her dervish spin; I warned her not to get too carried away with the mystery of the dark, bottomless roof over our heads, but she just shot me that twisted half-smile that sent me on another meteor-related reverie. This reverie was never finished or properly started, however, for a few moments after, a rock the size of a walnut streaked between us, white-hot from friction, and forced its way through her left shoulder. She screamed a bat-like scream and tottered backwards, down off the roof, down into the pear tree, down onto the power lines. The noise woke the neighbours, and the slight illumination of the sparks and the robes led them to this place. They milled and talked amongst each other until the intermittent red and blue lights arrived. After that I could no longer see them through my veil of tears.

This is indeed a disturbing universe.

Needlessly cryptic question: if this story were a polypeptide with the following secondary structure: alpha-helix, beta-turn, unstructured region, where would the beta-turn occur?

Consider: "the Wikipedia entry on Margaret Hassan devotes about 15% of the space to her 30 years of humanitarian work and 85% to her last two weeks of life. We need to collectively celebrate her life and life's work and wonder, not her relatively short time of dying, tragic as it is."