In my dreams I nev\u00ader reach the gate. It sits alone at the end of a wind\u00ading trail through dense over-hanging trees. It can barely hold itself up against its sup\u00adport\u00ading posts. The wood is rot\u00adten, the nails rusty and brittle. The hinge that holds the gate to the posts is almost let\u00adting go of its ward.<\/p>\n
I walk toward it. It\u2019s the same every time that I\u2019m here. There is no change in time, no change in sea\u00adson. It\u2019s a little before dusk. The sun is drop\u00adping out\u00adside of the wood, but from with\u00adin, the can\u00adopy oppresses everything, and the sun may as well have already set.<\/p>\n
I look around<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t recog\u00adnise the trail. The woods are unfa\u00admil\u00adi\u00adar. The trees, the dense under\u00adgrowth, none of it sparks a memory of any place that I have been before. But the smell. The smell grounds me, places me at an exact spot, an exact moment in time. Sadly one that I can\u00adnot recall from the back of my mind, but I know that it is there, taunt\u00ading me, dar\u00ading me to remem\u00adber. I know that this place is import\u00adant. I am more sure than I have ever been, on any\u00adthing before, that this place holds the key to some\u00adthing. Some\u00adthing import\u00adant to me. And hope\u00adfully, in time, I will solve the puzzle than will unlock maybe a flood of memories.<\/p>\n