My brothers and sisters crowd around me, their flesh slipping and sliding on mine.  We barely float, just enough to take in some air, all blankly facing the same almost inevitable fate. 

What is time to such as this who counts in centuries and a year is a mere flicker of passing moments?  What is time to such as this?

The breeze carries the faint sounds of clanging metal, cheering crowds, groans, and raspy gasping breath towards me along with the soft musty reek of sweat and blood. 

Something inside tells him to keep looking, that he’ll know it when he finds it or it finds him; and that when he succeeds, everything is going to be ok. 

“I am well-made and strong,” said the castle.  “I do not feel the heat or cold.  I do not fear fire or storms.”

“Ah,” said the tree, shivering a bit in the snow, its roots and branches, stretching, settling, “but I am alive.”

The sleep of the unburdened innocent heart is deep, sweet, and satisfying. 

Every stone tells a multitude of tales of heartbreak, flirtations, arguments, laughter, celebrations, dreams, tears, and those perfect moments of peace under a bright sky. 

Words don’t matter anymore.  Just the feel of hip pressed to hip, shoulder to shoulder, side to side, thigh to thigh, and the familiar warmth flowing back and forth matching the ebb and flow of the tides.