Looking out of my kitchen window, I notice a breeze blowing blades of grass back and forth across the yard like little green waves across the earth. Soaked in dew, the blades glisten in the rays of the yellow and orange sun.
Within a minute or so, I remember a dream I had. Someone I hadn’t recognized, a female, told me in a man’s voice I should start writing again. I eat my breakfast of toast and jelly, intent on figuring out who the lady is and why she had a man’s voice. Quite strange, maybe it had been Rozie.
After breakfast, I climb up to the attic, looking for the box I’ve stored all of my writing in. It’s been a long time since I put them away, so I’m not sure where it is.
I soon find the brown box tucked into a corner behind two folding chairs covered in dust. The story of my life
