The whistle of the winds and the scattered leaves gathering into the air breeze of November while the music of the cricket's song lull her away into sleep.
For tomorrow's morning, uncertain. Her soft silky hair danced on the waves of the trees; and its leaves singing with the wood nymphs — the road is busy with the cars passing and the pavement's slipping.
“The future is ours.” She said — with her chest heaved. The small droplets of the rain felt by her skin as she closed her eyes, the meaning of her vision stuck through her.
While tomorrow's may be uncertain — but the future is hers alone. Roaring thunders woke her into a moment of bliss. The once starless sky is now filled with the trinkets of destiny's creation — maybe in this night alone, her wishes came true.
That the future is hers alone.
It is uncertain to think of our future. But, let us remind ourselves that the future is ours, alone.