Death of a DreamThe pictures spilled from the envelope, fanning out on the table. Until that moment, I had been successful in holding the memories at bay. Ambrosia Farmstead had been my dream. Dusty country roads, huge white oak trees, the goats, rabbits, chickens – all were gone now. So was any hope of ever having it again. Fate can be cruel.
I tucked the pictures back into the envelope, tears coming to my eyes. A person should treasure every minute of a dream, because regardless of how long it took to build it, all too soon it could die.