A whisper came on the wind, reminding her of bitter days. Bitter? Yes, but the memory colored the present. It made her grateful. Now the hearth was full of firewood and little shoes and drying socks. Bellies were full. Tears had been wiped away. Songs sang themselves. Had the battle been won? Truthfully, she had not really expected to win, but here they were. It had been won, the long war of mankind over the centuries, eons and days and forever. It was done. She was tired, but danced anyway and rejoiced and stood astonished at the sound of peace. They had never heard it before, this pause, breath, the still, soft whisper that reminded them all what they had been given. It was good.
How often bad memories have had good endings -- it just takes time.
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