Flakes of gold shimmer as they flutter to earth, too numerous to count. Teensy tiny, humongous, and every size in between, each carries a unique sparkle. Few people would know that such beauty is nothing more than the scattering of shattered dreams.
If I can gather and piece some back together, before the winds of life sweep them into oblivion, can some become real? I wonder.
But I must hurry. How much time is really left?
shattered
but hopeful
