She found love: blue eyes, British accent, funny, a buttery brown leather jacket she snuggled against when kisses left her breathless. Sean. But his destiny claimed a smoking (literally) platinum blonde.
She discovered “Dog” in Burlington and envisioned love.
Instead, she fell in love with Spring and Summer Burlington. She loved the watercolor landscape of sunsets on Lake Champlain, the easy-going laughter at the pub.
Driving, she heard Carly Simon’s anthem, “Let the Rivers Run,” her inspiration. She should move, renew life in Burlington. Green hills. Country. Hers.
“Dark winters. Lots of snow,” her friend, Andy, said.
“You won’t like it,” Sean said.
She applied for jobs. Returned for an interview. A week before her second interview, she hiked with Sean and wrenched her ankle.
Years later, with Sean, she considered the path not taken.
On sunny days, happiness sung in her heart. On rainy days, a phantom reached within, removed her soul, leaving her in heavy darkness and wondering: What if?
So many years later, at dinner, gray mottling hair, both tired, disgruntled, he, nevertheless invoked charm.
This path was hers.
All was right.
In the end, her heart was (w)on(e).