It is dark, the deep end of evening. I stand at the river’s edge, the garden lush and green around me. I can hear the breeze through leaves. I can smell the yearning into the air.
Suddenly, I hear the buffalo move across the plain behind me, a drum beat sound that surges through me like life itself. They are not there in the now. Whether I am hearing the past or the future makes little difference. They are there for me. Their power ignites me.
The Ferryman smiles as he approaches. He has a gift for me, a small thing he places in my palm. It is a small flame, a tongue of light. “You’re doing good with all this.” He nods toward the garden, the green promises.
“Thank you. Yes.”
Then quieter, “She’s still over there you know. The little lost one waiting for you to find her. She’s still out there.”
I look over to the dense dark that is the wood on the far shore. I raise the hand that holds the light so that it shines down over me, revealing me. In response, there in the impenetrable dark, countless other small flames rise, shining down on the shoulders and lifted faces of all the kindred spirits. We star the dark. We are none of us alone.