A Dream -- Friday 11 September

I'm dancing with Grandma in her old kitchen, now bathed in starlight. Her rocking chair creaks like the Apollo mission's launch, while rain taps at the window like Morse code from the universe. We're chasing shadows cast by the setting sun, laughter echoing through the halls of a distant childhood home. Cicero's words flutter around us like confetti, each one smelling of fresh bread and Grandma's perfume. My fern grows taller with every twirl, reaching for the light that filters through her old recipes tucked away in the corner.