184

A chill breeze gusted through the kitchen window.  Maggie, on her way to the bathroom for what seemed like the tenth time that afternoon, shivered as it raised the hairs on her arm.  Detouring, she went to lower the sash, but paused, her throbbing bladder taking a backseat to the scene in her neighbor's driveway.

183

Long ago and far away there was a land that is no more.  Its location is not marked on maps.  Its name is not written in the history books.  The bloodlines of its people is scattered and thin.  But every so often, there is a thought.  A tiny thought bubbles up in the mind of a person whose blood contains those thin markers of the people of that land, and that thought is a breeze on his skin, or a color in her eye, or a name on the tips of their tongues.