She came to him in the dark, between the windblown pine and aspen. For all he knew she was sent down from the mountains in a gesture of trickery. For nothing could be so beautiful, or move with such grace. As she approached in the forest gloom, he thought of scenes from long ago, scenes before he was born.

The wind splayed her hair across her face as she watched her soft steps amongst the pine needles. Beyond the woman, in the dark, Gallatin Creek murmured.

For a moment he could not tell creek from wind or bowing tree.

He wanted to call out, to ask her who she was and where she’d come from. He moved his lips but no sound emerged.

Then she spoke, her voice coalescing with the leaves. “We’re home,” she said.

“Home” is an excerpt from my latest work.