But they are here! They didn't know if they would make it or not, the trip was long and the children young. The children glow as if they'd just stepped out another door and not traveled for hours. You happily greet them and their parents. The man sports a mustache, still brown. She barely registers, gathering the children, hands on shoulder, presenting them. You and the three children meet eyes, feeling that bond of friendship that almost excludes their mom and dad. You wonder if your old friends know this and if it would bother them. You are unconcerned, you and the children know of the magic you can create together.
You look out the window and see tufts of foam roll in from the ocean, blown up like froth from a lager. At least you think it is that at first, but the puffy drifts gather volume and you realize it has always been snow. You have not heeded the silent outdoors, and the dim grey sky has obscured the falling flakes. You make plans with the children to explore the snow while the other three adults catch up on the city's news. You know he will give them food and drink and he will be gracious and hide his discomfort.
On awakening you ponder the open floor plan around the fireplace, and you fancy the notion that this came from the past. Or could this dream be a story asking to be written? The feeling of contentment mixed with the edge of danger from the elements lingers in your body. You can feel her (you) asking to be remembered, don't forget, invite her into being. These two, did they build this house? Have they reached out to you from the timeless fire and stones to give you a glimpse of their love? You get a glimpse of the core separateness preferred by the man, and the inherent togetherness felt by the woman.