Carried on a Springtide Wind

A most peculiar thing happened to me today, as I went for a walk among the wildflowers. All at once, the wind began to howl and the Wispyblooms swirled around me like wine-tinged snowflakes. Just past the vortex I could see them: visions of my past, all present, all at once. My grandmother and father, showing mother how space plantings among the rice fields. They were somehow both young and old, visions of their youthful selves aglow with all the wisdom of ages past. Then there was mother, both child and matron, passing on this knowledge to my brothers and sisters. And I among them, young for eternity in this unnatural place – a ruptured stitch in the tapestry of our line. I looked up at the sky, past the swirling petals, to bask in the light of Cheng’e, hoping that she would carry me from this lonely place, back to the land of my ancestors. Instead I saw only the eyes of the wolf Tiagou, mouth agape as he loped toward her alabaster light, famished and longing. I dropped to my knees and cried out in warning! Darkness enveloped me, and I felt a cool springtime breeze on my face. I awoke among the shoots and stems of the hemp fields, holding this precious memory of hearth and family in my mind’s eye. All trace of my fear had been forgotten.