She clung to those words, believing they meant what she heard, what she dreamed of for so long. Fear lapped her. Was she the first to experience this anquish-laced joy? For years, every song, every note reminded her of that dream she held too tightly. A dream now too habitual for reality to ever sustain.

Water splattered against the window and lapped away the grime from years of neglect. Wind massaged the surface, leaving only remnants of the past. Nature’s housekeeper struggled to scrub away the pain and sorrow, fighting against the dry, fallen leaves empty of their life force.

The synonomy was apparent as she stood there inviting the wind to remove all memory of toil and heartache. Promise filled each drop of rain, each gust of wind. She let her intention direct her. She didn’t feel brave enough to let go of the past, but as the wind and rain grew stronger, she succumed to its inevitable release.

Cleansed and powerful she moved forward. A smile curled her lips. The sparkle in her eye told the tale of a woman infused with possibility, hope and desire. The storm had awoken her passion. Her shoulders were empty, her step light. Years of should haves rolled into the overflowing drain. Tomorrow was now flooded with her dreams.

She sat in the middle of the group and let the tears flow.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted and it never came to pass.

Her guidance gently reminded her. Did you truly want it or did you just love wanting it? The universe doesn’t understand ambiguity.

Her heart raced. The guidance was clear. I’m not sure, she responded.

There’s one other thing to take with you. Never hasn’t happened yet.

He scoured the landscape, searching for the forgotten, tossed-aside item he held so tightly just moments before. How could he be so careless? He missed it now, like the tide misses the moon. If only he hadn’t staggered and looked the other way, he would still be holding his prize. The wind danced through the trees, mocking him. Foolhearty soul it screamed. From the distance he thought he saw a twinkle. Could it be? He ran, panting his way toward a sliver of hope. He longed to hold it again, feel its warmth. Approaching the spot, he turned in sullen circles and bargained with the moon to reveal the truth. Was this the right spot? Maybe over there, he thought, and off he ran again, sweat forming on his brow. His breathing laboured from exasperation and loss, his prize was gone.

The sweet aroma of biscuits filled her bedroom. She dressed quickly and rushed downstairs. Her uncombed hair fell loosely around her shoulders and matts of blond curls stood straight up in the back. “Good morning,” said a sweet frail voice. “Biscuits smell good Nan, are they ready?” she asked. “Right after your hair is combed dear and you are dressed properly. Every meal deserves respect.” It was going to be a long summer for Jordan Miller.

Clean shaven with short hair, he looked young and straight. Attempts at small talk received only grunts, or silence with narrowing stares. He felt like a cop in a crack house. Making his way to the back of the room, he saw a familiar face. “I know you,” said a young-looking woman with a broad smile. “What are you doing here?” she asked. He walked by. He didn’t answer. He didn’t know.

The night was too dark for a full moon. The world seemed unfamiliar. Her mind was unable to reason, her eyes unable to focus. Her bare feet were planted squarely in the sand, up to her ankles. Her cold bare shoulders shivered, her neck stiffened. She was afraid, she was confused. Suddenly a loving presence formed a cocoon around her.  She silently succumbed to its embrace. “Come back to bed,” a voice whispered, “you’re in the kitty litter.”