A Dream -- Wednesday 9 September

I'm dancing in Grandma's old kitchen, the floorboards creaking like her rocking chair. The radio sings, "Just have a lean on it," but I can't stop twirling, laughter echoing off the walls painted with memories of sunsets and rain. Her letters flutter around me like confetti, each one smelling like smoke from the wildfires that never reached our little planet here. The scent is familiar, comforting, like the chill of autumn or the first bite of her apple pie. I remember the piano playing itself in the corner, its discord harmonizing with life's chaos. Suddenly, sunlight dances on the walls through leaves outside my window, and everything feels right again.