A Dream -- Sunday 13 September

I dance with Grandma under the starlit kitchen ceiling, our laughter echoing like distant galaxies colliding. The rain taps on the windows, each droplet a tiny astronaut returning home to Earth. Mother's flour-dusted hands shape dough into constellations, while her laughter - that cosmic jazz - fills the room. An agent of joy, she perceives our need and acts accordingly, kneading warmth into every loaf. I wonder if laughter is the universe's native language, spoken by every star, every planet, every human heart.