• There once was a little girl.

    Her small, round face glimmered pale in the overcast light of early morning. Standing perfectly still, silver leaves of the autumn swirled around her in a brittle, monochrome flurry. Milky blue hands clutched the arm of a grey, worn doll. In the cold sun, she looked ethereal with her childish clothes of cotton and lace.

    It was her eyes that held me in that old, forgotten orchard. And as I walked past her, sound faded into a white, white sheet while her gaze met mine so calmly. The too-large brown eyes followed me as I walked past a small apple tree. The branches were etched silver with morning frost.

    My breath passed my lips in wisps, and through their clouds, the child watched me silently. Behind her were the rolling hills of my childhood, iced over into a gilded tapestry so unlike the warmth of my memories.

    Far away, the wind carried the tinkling of bells, and for the first time, the girl moved. She turned her slender frame almost wistfully in the direction of the sound. She glanced at me then, a ghost of a smile on her face.

    A laugh, as soft and sweet as blue, cloudless sky, and she was gone; running down the frosted hills I remembered so well. She disappeared from sight and I wrapped my sweater more tightly to my body to ward off a sudden chill as I watched her fade away.

    Sound swelled back into focus, and I continued on along my path unchanged, a bit more pensive. Waltzing across my mind were whispers of the past, breathing secrets almost forgotten, but not near enough to remember.

    My shoes crunched on the gravel path, eerily loud in the hollow quiet that followed.

    I was once a little girl.