It was a dark and stormy night. I always did adore thunderstorms. The power they hold intrigues as well as humbles, reminding me that I’m part of something more. In what most would call “reality”, I sat by my bedroom window, unable to sleep, unable to look away from the raging tempest outside, unable to quell the one within.

In my mind, you might say, though it was far more real than that, I stood in the center of my labyrinth. My arms spread wide, face turned skyward, I slowly rotated, letting the wind attempt to play with my soaking hair and clothes. I spread my toes in the wet grass, feeling my feet coat over with mud. I smiled, feeling the joy of the grass at the much-needed rain. Though my eyes were closed, my senses were as open as they ever were, perhaps even moreso. I could hear the wind sing to me the song of a fresh start. It sang in praise of the time that had ended, and told me of change on its way.

When I opened my eyes, I saw that on the bench where only I had ever rested, sat Change.