|
There
are
moments,
ever
so
slight,
ever
so
scarce,
moments
that
can
disappear
in
the
blink
of
an
eye...
She
was
breathing
heavily.
She
had
been
running.
She
stopped
to
catch
her
breath,
hands
on
her
tummy,
she
could
feel
the
life
growing
inside
her,
she
closed
her
eyes,
her
dark
hair
free
to
the
cool
breeze
that
skimmed
the
tall
grass.
She
reached
out
with
her
right
hand
and
grabbed
hold
of
some.
Its
texture
felt
rough
and
withered
from
the
afternoon's
sun.
The
sun
had
since
set,
the
sky
dark,
the
air
cool,
pleasing.
She
gathered
her
thoughts
about
her.
This
was
the
third
time
she
had
awoken
from
that
dream,
the
third
time
she
had
felt
compelled
to
return
to
the
meadow,
the
third
time
that
tears
had
streamed
from
her
eyes.
She
collapsed
into
a
heap
amongst
the
tall,
weedy
grass.
Crickets
echoed
each
other's
call
to
the
moon.
She
had
dreamt
of
her
mother.
Too
tired
to
return
to
the
house,
she
gathered
her
shawl
close
around
her,
kicked
her
sneakers
off
and
fell
asleep,
longing
for
a
home
that
never
was,
a
mother's
embrace
that
could
never
be,
a
love
that
she
longed
to
know... 
It
was
the
morning
call
of
sparrows
that
awoke
her.
She
propped
herself
on
her
elbows,
squinting
at
the
bright
morning
sun.
She
was
unsure
of
the
time,
then
she
panicked,
her
foster
parents
would
be
worried
and
annoyed
at
her
disappearance.
She
had
chores
to
do,
her
baby
brother
to
tend
to.
She
herself
was
pregnant
with
her
first
child.
She
shied
away
as
she
thought
of
the
father
of
her
child.
Her
pregnancy
had
brought
new
responsibilities,
in
some
ways
she
was
glad.
Her
foster
parents
had
started
to
treat
her
differently,
like
an
adult.
Perhaps
it
was
because
her
foster
mother
was
also
expecting.
She
got
to
her
feet
and
began
to
dust
herself
down.
She
smiled
to
herself,
she
had
dreamt
such
a
beautiful
dream,
the
same
dream
that
had
compelled
her
to
run
from
the
house
during
the
night
to
the
meadow.
She
had
dreamt
that
she
had
been
picking
strawberries
in
the
fields
along
the
farm
road,
across
the
creek
near
the
house.
Amongst
the
sounds
of
afternoon
bird
song,
she
heard
her
name
being
called
from
a
distance.
It
was
a
name
secret
only
to
her,
to
her
and
her
mother.
She
had
turned
so
fast
that
so
that
of
the
strawberries
tumbled
out
of
the
basket
she
carried.
She
heard
her
name
again.
It
could
only
be
one
person,
only
one.
The
voice
persisted
to
linger
close
to
her
face,
sweet,
melodic,
soothing.
She
ran
as
fast
as
she
could,
whispering,
'Mummy!
Mummy!'
Tears
were
streaming
down
her
cheeks.
But
as
she
ran
closer
to
the
source
of
the
voice,
the
sky
began
to
darken,
the
grass
no
longer
a
lush
green,
but
withered
and
dry.
She
found
herself
standing
in
the
meadow,
only
the
voices
of
crickets
to
break
the
silence.
As
she
raised
her
head
towards
the
silhouettes
of
the
far
pine
trees
that
lined
the
faded
horizon,
something
glimmered
in
the
grass
ahead
of
her.
She
walked
over
to
it.
There
hanging
from
a
branch
of
a
young
elf
tree,
was
a
locket.
She
gathered
it
into
her
hands
and
rolled
it
over
and
over,
examining
the
intricate
detailing
etched
into
the
gold.
It
was
beautiful.
She
realised
that
one
side
had
a
clasp.
She
pushed
gently
on
it.
It
opened
to
reveal
two
photos,
one
on
either
side
of
the
two
halves
of
the
locket.
On
the
left
was
a
picture
of
a
young,
pretty
woman.
The
woman
seemed
vaguely
familiar,
but
she
could
not
place
her,
she
found
herself
strangely
comforted
and
at
peace
as
she
stared
at
the
photo.
She
moved
her
gaze
to
the
right
photo.
There
was
a
picture
of
a
beautiful
baby
girl.
She
examined
the
photo
closely,
moving
to
catch
as
much
of
the
moon's
light
as
possible.
There
around
the
baby
was
a
locket,
the
same
locket
as
the
one
in
her
hand!
At
that
moment
of
realization
she
always
awoke.
She
sighed
to
and
then
blushed
to
herself.
She
had
searched
on
each
night
for
that
special
elf
tree,
but
to
no
avail.
She
had
this
silly
idea
that
perhaps
that
the
young
woman
in
the
photo
was
her
mother
and
the
baby
girl
was
herself
and
that
somehow
her
mother
was
trying
to
tell
her
that
theirs
was
a
union
that
could
never
be
broken,
that
her
name,
her
secret
name
would
always
be
special
only
to
the
two
of
them.
She
raised
her
arms
above
her
head,
what
was
she
thinking!
She
was
in
so
much
trouble
with
her
foster
parents.
Today
was
Saturday
and
her
foster
dad
was
going
to
take
her
foster
mother
to
the
hospital
for
a
check
up.
With
another
brother
or
sister
on
the
way,
they
would
be
even
more
reliant
on
her.
She
sighed
again.
She
herself
could
not
afford
expensive
medical
bills.
She
gathered
her
sneakers
and
walked
on
in
the
direction
of
the
house.
Just
then
something
caught
her
eye.
There
just
a
few
feet
ahead
of
her
was
a
strange-looking
tree,
an
elf
tree.
Her
heart
raced,
could
it
be?
She
took
a
deep
breath
and
walked
towards
it.
The
tree
looked
identical
to
the
one
in
her
dream.
There
upon
a
branch
was
a
golden
locket.
She
grabbed
at
it
eagerly.
She
pushed
on
the
clasp.
It
opened.
But
there
were
no
photos
inside.
She
rubbed
her
fingers
across
the
smooth,
gold
inserts
inside
the
locket.
She
struggled
to
hold
back
the
tears,
but
they
flooded
her
eyes,
'Why,
why'
she
whispered
to
the
meadow,
she
search
the
sky
and
all
around
her
for
some
response,
but
there
was
none.
She
had
cried
alone
for
hours
before
returning
to
the
house.
She
didn't
understand,
nor
could
she
comprehend
the
events
of
that
day.
She
gave
birth
to
a
beautiful
baby
girl
later
that
year.
She
had
placed
the
locket
around
her
baby
girl
at
birth,
to
protect
her.
Some
weeks
later
after
the
christening
she
had
left
her
baby
at
the
doors
of
a
church,
placing
a
note
in
the
baby's
crib,
proclaiming
that
she
was
a
sinner
and
not
worthy
of
God
nor
His
Grace,
such
that
he
had
showered
upon
her
in
the
form
of
this
beautiful
baby
girl.
She
had
left
that
cold
winter's
night
with
only
a
photo
of
her
daughter
wearing
that
locket,
a
photo
taken
at
her
christening.
The
child,
herself
an
orphan,
grew
up
into
a
beautiful
young
lady.
She
was
intelligent,
gifted
and
became
successful
in
business.
Her
relationships
with
men
were
difficult
and
often
strained.
It
was
her
mother
that
gave
her
strength.
Although
she
had
never
met
her,
she
often
dreamt
about
her.
She
would
be
picking
strawberries
in
a
field...
Many
years
later,
through
much
expense
and
numerous
private
investigators,
she
managed
to
track
an
address
that
was
believed
to
be
her
mother's
residence.
One
early
autumn
morning,
she
had
embarked
on
the
long
journey.
Along
the
way
she
was
accompanied
by
many
recollections
of
dreams
and
incidents
that
had
occurred
throughout
her
life.
Tears
streamed
down
her
cheeks.
Now
she
would
be
able
to
share
all
of
those
fears
and
tribulations
with
her
mother.
She
found
the
house,
pulled
up
and
got
out
of
the
car.
She
found
the
house
occupied
by
an
elderly
man.
He
turned
out
to
be
a
retired
naval
officer.
It
seems
that
later
life
had
been
kind
to
her
mother.
She
had
been
his
second
wife,
a
mother
of
two,
a
boy
and
a
girl.
Both
kids
were
grown
and
married
with
their
own
families.
She
had
died
of
cancer
two
years
prior.
She
struggled
to
find
words
to
express
her
disappointment,
she
cried
silent
tears
in
her
heart,
as
she
listened
to
the
elderly
man's
tale
of
her
mother.
He
told
her
that
as
much
as
his
wife
had
been
happy,
there
were
days
when
he
would
find
her
out
on
the
back
porch
staring
out
towards
the
strawberry
fields
that
lay
to
the
east.
He
had
never
understood
why
she
had
those
moments
of
sorrow,
it
always
concerned
him,
but
he
loved
her
too
much
to
question
her.
As
she
sat
there
listening
to
his
words,
she
realized
that
her
mother
had
not
talked
about
her
pregnancy,
she
realized
that
to
this
elderly
man,
she
did
not
exist.
She
composed
herself
and
stood
up
from
the
chair.
The
man
seemed
puzzled
at
her
abrupt
action
and
offered
her
tea.
She
looked
into
his
kind
eyes.
She
smiled
sweetly
at
him
and
made
her
excuses
that
she
was
organizing
a
town
reunion
for
some
of
the
folk
that
used
to
live
there.
She
thanked
him
for
his
time
and
made
for
the
front
door.
As
she
was
about
to
leave,
he
asked
her
if
the
old
church
still
stood
there.
She
froze
in
her
tracks,
turned
to
him
and
nodded.
That
church
was
special
in
her
heart.
Throughout
her
life
she
would
often
return
there
when
things
were
tough.
She
had
often
prayed
there,
hoping
that
when
she
opened
her
eyes
her
mother
would
be
standing
there.
There
were
tears
in
his
eyes.
He
asked
her
if
she
could
do
something
for
him.
She
agreed,
curious
as
to
what
he
might
want.
He
disappeared
through
a
door
in
the
hallway
and
returned
with
a
sealed
box.
He
told
her
that
his
belated
wife
had
asked
him
on
her
deathbed
to
deliver
the
box
to
the
old
church
upon
her
death.
He
had
known
that
the
box
contained
the
secret
to
her
moments
of
sorrow.
He
had
dared
not
to
open
it
out
of
respect,
but
had
not
the
courage
to
deliver
the
box.
He
felt
ashamed
and
gave
it
to
her,
asking
her
to
fulfil
his
wife's
promise.
She
agreed.
Her
heart
was
racing.
She
thanked
him
for
his
time
and
left.
She
drove
home,
the
excitement
at
times
almost
overwhelming.
What
was
in
the
box?
Eventually
she
got
home.
It
was
night.
She
let
herself
into
her
apartment.
Took
a
quick
shower,
made
a
cup
of
lemon
tea
and
sat
down
on
her
sofa.
She
sipped
her
tea,
dressed
in
a
bathrobe,
her
dark
hair
wet
and
combed
back
away
from
her
face.
The
box
sat
alone
on
her
coffee
table
in
front
of
her.
She
had
thought
of
fulfilling
the
elderly
man's
wishes
about
delivering
the
box
to
the
church,
but
something
kept
tugging
at
her.
She
had
to
know
what
was
inside.
She
had
grown
up
longing
for
a
home
that
never
was,
a
mother's
embrace
that
could
never
be,
a
love
that
she
longed
to
know.
She
slowly
put
down
the
cup
and
gathered
the
box
into
her
arms.
She
breathed
out
deeply.
As
she
drew
a
slow
breath,
she
broke
the
seal
and
removed
the
lid.
Inside
she
found
a
number
of
letters
addressed
to
the
church
that
had
never
found
their
way
to
the
mailbox,
a
worn
diary
and
a
small
envelope.
She
could
not
bring
herself
to
open
the
letters.
She
was
too
was
bound
by
respect
for
her
mother's
wishes.
But
she
opened
the
diary...
The
night
seemed
endless.
Many
tears
were
shed
amongst
outbursts
of
laughter
and
smiles,
as
she
read
of
her
mother's
fate
both
good
and
bad.
She
did
not
know
what
time
she
had
fallen
asleep.
She
awoke,
to
find
herself
huddled
on
the
sofa.
The
diary
opened
and
embraced
in
her
arms.
She
propped
herself
up
and
turned
the
diary
over
to
reveal
the
pages.
What
she
then
read
brought
a
chill
to
her
spine.
'Though
my
body
has
perished,
my
heart
yearns
for
my
beloved
daughter.
How
I
miss
you.
I
cannot
tell
you
the
love
I
feel
for
you,
every
breath
that
you
have
breathed
nourishes
my
spirit
with
the
hope
that
we
will
one
day
meet.
Beloved
daughter,
how
I
wish
I
could
share
with
you
all
that
I
know
now.
So
much
makes
sense.
But
words
are
not
enough.
Should
my
requests
to
the
church
ever
be
fulfilled...
by
my
Beloved
Lord,
I
pray,
pray,
pray
that
they
are!
The
envelope
I
have
placed
in
this
box
is
for
you...I
am
tired,
so
tired,
I
will
always
love
you...'
Tears
poured
from
within.
Here,
within
the
diary
in
her
hands,
at
last,
her
sorrow
was
put
to
rest.
Her
mother
loved
her.
She
scrambled
for
the
box
and
retrieved
the
envelope.
She
opened
it
and
tipped
the
contents
into
her
hand.
There,
in
her
hand,
lay
a
lock
of
hair
and
two
small
locket
photos
and
a
letter.
She
looked
at
the
photos
minutely.
One
was
of
a
young
pretty
woman,
the
other
a
beautiful
baby
girl.
She
read
the
note.
'The
young
woman
in
the
photo
is
of
myself.
My
beloved
husband
had
it
taken
prior
to
taking
his
post
in
the
war.
The
photo
of
the
baby
girl
is
you.
It
was
taken
at
your
christening.
I
have
kept
it
close
to
my
heart
all
these
years.
Do
you
still
have
the
locket?
I
pray
so.
I
have
also
enclosed
a
lock
of
my
hair.
I
fear
that
by
the
time
you
receive
this
I
will
no
longer
be
of
this
plane.
I
am
sorry
beloved.
I
can
only
tell
you
that
I
love
you
and
that
this
love
will
never
die.
We
are
inseparable.
Now
do
something
for
me.
Smile
okay?
Love
you...'
She
clenched
the
letter
to
her
chest.
She
cried
out
to
her
mother,
wishing
that
she
could
know
her
embrace.
She
removed
the
old
locket
that
she
wore
around
her
neck.
All
her
life
she
had
wondered
why
it
was
empty.
It
had
eluded
her
throughout
her
childhood
and
young
adult
life.
She
had
learnt
to
except
that
lockets
were
keep-safes
for
memories
of
loved
ones
and
that
she
had
none.
Now,
she
had
memories.
To
have
existed
for
so
long
without
them
tore
at
her
heart,
but
as
much
as
those
thoughts
burned
in
her
mind,
she
felt
at
peace.
She
placed
the
two
photos
in
the
locket.
She
placed
the
picture
of
her
mother
on
the
left,
the
picture
of
herself
as
baby
wearing
the
locket
on
the
right.
She
stared
at
them
through
tears.
She
felt
complete.
She
fell
asleep
upon
the
sofa
dreaming... of
picking
strawberries..
with
her
mother. 
This
beautiful
story
was
written
by
my
talented
friend,
Whitehawk
If
you
would
like
to
send
him
comments
on
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FastCounter
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