The grave site on the hill.

The grave site on the hill.

My dreams are like a field of golden wheat that sways back and forth through the cool summer breeze. As I walk, I can see a shack with one candle glowing on the window pane. It's sparks a flame, and I see shadows from the past of children playing, laughing, and climbing a tree. I can hear the echoes and whispers in the breeze. They used to hear the church chimes that looked over the old graves on the hill. They had tears in their eyes as they showed me a stone with a name I did not know. So I looked up the name that I did not know. It was the name of a child who died at birth 100 years ago.