The wind moved the flowers on the field outside the window. The tall grass on the hills farther away moved like waves in the sea.
A small log cabin with a cozy inside was placed in the middle of a forest. She sat at the kitchen counter drinking tea, quietly looking outside the window.
There was no noise except for the wind chimes hanging in on the trees outside.
The recipe was simple: the ash from an old tree and morning dew sprayed on it to make a paste, leave to dry and crush back to dust.
At night with only the light of the stars, she would spincle the dust under the wind chimes and after, she could see and pick up every chime that the wind blew that day.
In a woven basket, she would collect them and bring them inside and shake each one of them to see what was inside.
See, every night the wind chimes would reflect a star and during the day the wind would move them and like drops of water the memories of the people watching the star would fall to the ground to be picked up.
She would break the chimes open with a small hammer and carefully put the memory in a fish tank. There, the memories would curate for a couple of days until they were ready to be sent back as dreams.