Once upon a time there was a quiet and watchful woman. A veil of white hair belied her middling age and crinkling laughter lined her shadow-blue eyes. She lived her life at the edge of things. With some trepidation, she watched zxxxxxxxxx from the far side of the crowded dance floor. Walking alone, she balanced carefully on the brink between hiding and exposure. Bouncing and giddy inside her quiet expectation, on the very edge of her proverbial seat, she watched every day to see what might come next.

Until one sunny day in a cool forest glen where she floated, delighting, in the warm water of a natural spring watching the world ease by in the gentle afternoon. Into the periphery of her vision burst a colorful character, dressed gaily in flowering top hat and leaning on a sparkling staff. He sat himself opposite her in the pool, looking at her through dark eyes full of knowing mischief, and began to tell her the most wonderful stories.

He told her stories of adventure and magic set in faraway desert lands and distant island nations. His stories touched her heart in uncountable ways. They made her weep with their sorrow, and others, with the joy they told. Some stories held brutal life lessons. Still others brought silly or raucous laughter in their telling. All of them, every one, pulled her off the edge and deeply into his living voice.

Most wondrous and exciting of all were the stories he told her of love and desire. Sweet stories filled with whispers and passionate kisses. Stories heated by restrained longing and joyfully explored lust. Sad and beautiful stories of unexpected love, found and lived and lost, but not forgotten.

All love like this, he told her, ends in tears.

Despite that disquieting precipiece, she wasn't afraid. The edges didn't hold much interest for her any more. No longer content to watch, she learned to prefer the exquisite uncertainty of being fully alive in the middle of whatever came next.