Rose is nothin' special. At least, that's what she says to herself. She is nothin' with nothin' left. Born on tour with scores of Grateful Deadheads, she has always known her place. She belonged to the music, to the color, the light. And they belonged to her.

The daughter of Sunflower and Kats, she has always been loved. Living her life in tie-dyes she made herself, army jackets and brown leather sandals with the words"A Box of Rain Will Ease the Pain" carved in them, "hippie" was a word commonly used to describe her. But she was a human, same as them. And her bright brown eyes lit up each time she thought of her dream.

Lately though, her bright eyes had deepened to the blank mahogany that she would know and live with for many years to come, or so she thought.

Rose sighed and brushed a strand of hair that smelled like cigarettes out of her face. She'd taken to smoking a lot lately. Yeah sure, she had a dream, but hers had been crushed. The faint recognition of a song flickered through her mind,"I had a lot of dreams once, and some of them came true . . . " Rose pushed the thought out of her mind. It was all connected in a way, best not to think about it. Poor Ramblin' Rose, doomed to ramble on the rest of her days- all because he was gone. She fought not to think about it but her thoughts didn't seem her own, like she was no longer in control. No way to fight it, with nothing to believe in, the compass always points to Terrapin.

Hesitantly, she pulled out the notebook. It was littered with sketches and phrases: Jerry Bears, wharf rats, sugar magnolias, ships of fools, Franklin's Towers, ripples in still water and roses, lots of roses. Her diary, her journal, it had been with her for as long as she could remember. Fingering the cover fondly, she flipped to the beginning, or as near to the beginning as mattered anymore, and began to read it over. She knew she would add a few sentences. There were things she knew she had left out, but times were so rushed then, it was a miracle that she had written at all.