I breathe deeply, taking in the fresh spring air. Though Beaufort has changed and I have changed, the air itself has not. It"s still the air of my childhood, the air of my seventeenth year, and when I finally exhale, I"m fifty-seven once more. But this is okay. I smile slightly, looking towards the sky, knowing there"s one thing I haven"t told you: I now believe, by the way, that miracles can happen.