The First Page
It’s a beautiful dream.
Wake.
Not yet.
A little longer, please.
I wore a large-brimmed sun hat and garden gloves and was on my knees holding a small trowel, digging and fussing in my English rose garden and the sun was bright but not hot—and I was truly happy.
How I loved this garden, the scent of roses mixed with moist earth.
A man walked over. I did not know him. Or did I? He carried a tray with a pot of English tea, the scent of Earl Grey. We sat in the shade of the veranda and talked of the nobility of the rose.
He picked a white rose from a vase on the table and tucked it behind my ear.
I woke not with a startle, but with tears.
Not sadness, only peace.
I realized it was noon.
I realized, too,
that the First Page was no longer mine.
Two mornings earlier, I started writing
and wrote until I couldn’t.
Two days later,
the First Page was gone.
You’ll get it back.
no
The page belonged to another time—
when everything stopped,
except breath,
and the quiet between words.
The Art
Title: ‘The Dream’
Copyright: 2026
Artist: Lee Anne Morgan
Powerful and peaceful. I’m trying to imagine a parallel between promises: the dream and the page. Both seem filled with essence and livelihood. Both whole worlds disappear. Is the sun peaking through a white rose beginning to droop? So much to think about. Thank you for sharing this heartfelt piece, Lee Anne.