Zecora eyed the shelves of her hut, lined with new pottery and glassware. Her stocks were neat and orderly. Too orderly, she thought, as she nudged a jar out of alignment.
She was used to organized chaos. It hadn't been the same ever since that moro- no, that good friend of hers - had charged through. Zecora had cursed up a storm in that mare's wake, for all the trouble that spilling most of her ingredients had brought her, but ultimately it might have been a blessing in disguise, for it gave her an excuse to clean up. And no longer would she store potions in crystal-glass bottles, or spices in pouches of leaf-leather and bark. No, she'd put these agents in containers that could survive more than a slight breeze. That day of destruction had not been a slight breeze, but maybe it wouldn't have been such a headache if she'd done this years ago.
Absently, she noticed the windows brighten, and peered out to see the weather - but there was no weather. And in the direction of Ponyville, there was no forest, either. Just a great, blank expanse. Stepping outside, it became clear - the invisibility was spreading.
Well, she figured that might happen, so she had prepared the cure for it earlier. She took the old bottle out from its hanging-place, and held it up, and waited - just until the moss under her hooves turned to glass - and then dashed it onto the ground.
In effect, it reminded her of a charlatan's act - a sudden yank of a tablecloth without disturbing the glassware above it. The strange clarity of the ground and the surrounding forest receded just as suddenly, and things appeared back to normal. She could see distant landscapes come back into view - even that precarious palace upon the mountain, which she had somehow forgotten was there.
With that done, Zecora returned to her hut, and resumed her final task before she could be, in her estimation, back in order. A sizable board of bark was the canvas, bleached white by a simple acid, and black pitch-paint formed the letters. She knew the Equestrian script, but just hadn't had much practice writing in it lately, so it was slow-going - but eventually it was complete.
She hung the sign by the door, and found it fit to purpose. Meant for a particular friend of hers, it read:
"NO BLINDFOLDS"