At the point just before the sun begins its slow descent, I contemplate how life is merely a string of questions without any clear answers. We’re placed here without reason. We float like dandelion florets in the breeze. Tiny pieces of magic. Brilliant, soft, and then gone. We could spend our lives trying to figure out the reasons why, or we could revel in our time. We could try finding out where it all went wrong, or we could sway like stalks of wheat with our faces raised to the sun, singing words that celebrate the joys and despairs that make our years here what they are. These words of my own. Just when did I realise they would save me, I wonder? Pausing for a second as the fox drinks from a stream, I watch the gathering of faraway storm clouds. Closing my eyes, I listen intently and make out a small grumble of thunder. Looking up, the fox sniffs the air then turns and catches my gaze. We nod at each other, and after taking in a little more water, he leads me ever on. There were times in my life I tried so desperately to make sense of my actions. Whole chunks of time wishing so much to go back and do things differently. To tell people of the love in my heart. To prove to them I was human after all, and not just the mess of a man I appeared to be on the outside. But such a thing isn’t real. There’s no medicine for regret. No way to change past mistakes. The older I’ve become, the clearer it’s been to see that all I am able to do is paint pictures with words that detail my hopes and dreams before this heart of mine beats its last. This is my gift. This is all I have to give. Picking up speed, the fox sniffs the air again and lets out a bark. We’re heading towards the storm. It’s several miles away, and yet I know this is where he’s taking me. Tossing my satchel aside, I eye up the dim flashes of light in the distance and bite the inside of my mouth. Tasting blood, I trail my four-legged friend as he cuts through the wheat, scared of where we’re heading to, yet excited of what I’ll find on the other end.