Forward

Spellbound as I was on that evening in 1992, the magic died with the music. The crowd shuffled off the ship, and no thread of fate led me to the love of my dreams. The tour group lined up outside the charter bus, parked close by in the Old Port. As we boarded the bus, I saw someone along the metal barricade in front of the St. Lawrence River. From my window seat, I tried to find the beautiful stranger trailing behind a group of classmates or co-workers, looking at the waters. She was gone, whisked away by the wind.