She'll return to Spain's mountains along the sacred path to Santiago yet transform a half a world away to guard her childhood crib now rocking, gently rocking, rocking rocking a new little one. Pilgrams and infants alike will hear soft chimes and glance, looking for the music maker, the one who hints of the good to come. She'll rustle the fallen leaves on autumn nights when the very last of the warm winds blow, and families will take walks -- long walks to faraway lands in search of warm homes, food, safe sleep for their gray-haired ones, education for the youngest, and the chance to dream yet again for what they want and love. She'll walk beside and whisper, "I'll protect you with all I am. Keep on." She'll enter schoolrooms and playgrounds and again teach, trading ponderous lessons for life skills to keep best friends, new loves, and honored guides. Students will look back on saved notebooks but remember the days so glorious with deep meaning and new dreaming. She'll sigh as she journeys with them, growing older but -- so she'll hope -- not old. Never old. She'll return to Spain's mountains along the sacred path to Santiago, to Syria to Sudan to Guatemala and reservations, to your home and mine and walk beside those Pilgrams seeking a meaning for life, their yearning for wholeness and worth. She'll watch them grow and whisper in the evening winds, "Laugh for Life will fly. Protect each other. Have strength. Keep on."