Drumbeats summon the children.

The Elder commands, “Sit. Look at me. Hear my dream

 Of an enchanted land,

 A mystery of lakes and mists and blue skies

Where evergreen forests hug an open plain

Made of gold.”

She motions a rolling tumble and a toss.

“Leaves leap into the land’s whirling winds.

 They are flung out changed:

 Brittle, dry, thin as breath itself.”

“Puff like this.” The elder wheezes.

But wide-eyed children copy,

 Exhaling into flat hands.

She sweeps her arms in arcs.

“Each leaf floats a solitary skyway

 Until it drifts to Earth.”

Her fingers patter like raindrops.

 “Never forget. Dreams carry Spirit Truth.”

She signals for quiet prayer.

Palms up, eyes raised,

Each opens a heart’s song.

 Into the reverent silence,

The youngest child breaks in,

“More stories!”

 Elder smiles, “Tomorrow.

If tomorrow comes. Today,

Whisper your dream.

Let it float into my ear.”

Perhaps she has found

The one, the young elder.