At the market, Grandpa sold faded postcards beside a basket of lemon sweets and knitted pompom hats. Tourists would squint at the sky whenever the old helicopter circled overhead, warning of another cult gathering beyond the hills.

Then came the stampede.

Not from danger—just goats escaping a broken fence, bells clanging wildly through the square. A tiny woof followed as Grandpa’s dog chased them proudly, convinced he was saving the world.

“Nothing lasts forever,” Grandpa laughed, gathering scattered postcards before they could expire beneath muddy hooves.

By sunset, the market breathed again, sweet with dust, laughter, and lemon sugar melting slowly on curious tongues.

With love

— Maggie The Afterlove Voice 💫

If you want a reading, send me an email:

Afterlove-Voice@hotmail.com