Droplets rippled in the puddles in front of their childhood home. They were busy-treading children again, in the dream at least. That old steamy abode was falling into a tobacco field. Rural and ramshackle, its structure was capped with the pelting chorus of a summer storm on a rusty tin roof.

Without a wrinkle or a worry, a girl spoke. "I want to go outside!" Her whispers fluttered thinly into the dust particles floating around the old house. Mother chided the voice through the tattered net curtains. The threat of her little girl being struck by lightning was too much for the parent. She didn't know though, but she was in love with a ghost.

From the long road came the city's pale face, it sulked around the ruined planks of the front porch and its outsider soul was inquisitive to a fault. "I'd rather die here, than live in that awful city." Even though a thunderhead loomed, saturating the black earth, the visitor went on unaffected. He barely reacted, nothing could dampen his fascination for the empty house. "Who's in there?" The boy, peering through the diaphanous window dressing, frowned with fright. Wind, like a wave, rustled through the fragrant crop and reminded the city slicker of those swells, rolling ashore. The girl, shivering with excitement inside, stared right back at him.

"Don't look at him, he'll see you!" She, the mother, sighed dejectedly. "Or maybe he won't." She'd remembered she was in love with a ghost.

And the child had forgotten. "Of course he can see me!" The daughter, flicking her chin-length hair, turned to the mother and exclaimed with frustration.

The mother faded away...

"Mother?"

The daughter faded away...

"Who's there I said!"

The stranger faded away...

The road was empty.

The house was empty.

Wind blew across the field.

The field was fallow.