It’s the Eve of July 4th. My heart is anything but free.

I lie face up in the hammock, gently swinging back and forth, staring through the leaves to the starlit sky. It’s unseasonably cool, so I hug my sweatshirt a little tighter around me. The off-pitch karaoke singers doing an old Lionel Ritchie tune at the campground park compete with another camper’s blaring radio for my ear. I’m not interested in either. A tear creeps into the corner of my eye as I watch for fireworks I hear in the distance. I can’t get my head and heart to agree that music is unnecessary.

Deep down, past the part of me in denial, is a soul that wants to sing.

I’m not sure how to let go of a dream, but that seems to be what the spirit is suggesting. I’m repeatedly reminded that when you let go of one thing, something better comes along. But I find that hard to believe as it’s rarely been the case in my life. And why would the maker ask his creation to give up what he made her to do? I have no answers . . . only questions and a tear that threatens to fall.

I so desperately want to be wrong. I want the stars to spell out the future for me. I want them to form a treble clef with a cross in the center, the shape of my tattoo . . . the shape of what I used to believe was the sign of his promise. Then I would know I could close my eyes in peace and dream of my dream, waking up to freedom on this 4th.