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Nothing carrying anyone’s name.
Only Earth.
Rain.
Endless green.
Plants stretch across the land, some familiar, others unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Women walk barefoot between the rows with baskets hooked over their arms. Men follow behind them carrying food. Children race through the fields, laughing as they chase one another beneath the sun.
No one is afraid.
The image shifts.
Night.
A stone circle stands beneath thousands of stars.
Four people wait inside it.
No masks.
No ribbons.
No blood.
No Bride.
They pour wine into the soil.
Then milk.
Grain.
Seeds.
Bread is broken apart and scattered across the earth.
Food passes from hand to hand.
Someone begins to laugh.
Then another.
Music rises.
They dance.
They kiss.
Hands wander. Bodies press together beneath the stars as laughter becomes moans and celebration dissolves into pleasure.
Nothing is taken.
Everything is given.
And beneath them, the land blooms.
The memory lurches forward.
