None

The spring flush was characteristic. The flowers blushed and the grass smiled green. Life thronged the verdant valley and songbirds filled the cheery air with lush ballads. The sun shone down moistly at first, but later became stronger. As summer rolled around, the songbirds sang clearly, serenading the late hours in clear night skies. The smell of dried hay mingled with barbecue smoke and tinged the stars. But as months progressed, the nights grew shorter, and the sun covered itself in a crotchetted shawl of clouds. The wind picked up and cut right through to the bone. The songbirds no longer sang, as the driving gales speckled the landscape with white. No one knew what became of the songbirds. There were some, then there was one, and then there were none.

The sandy beach was characteristic. The moist salt-laden wind ruffled its smooth starry sand into a seaside erg, filled with little barchans. The barchan was a work of wonder, a wee crescent-shaped sand dune, with two mischievous horns curving away from the wind. And during the day as the wind turned, they playfully turned too. Like a schoolground full of children playing 'Simon says..'. As evening approached, the sun's glowing orb dimmed, and cast softer orange upon the shiny white sand. The sunset over the sea was always a thing of beauty, one that would calm even the savage beast. But not all was well with this picturesque scene. As the sea rushed back in with tidal urgency, it swallowed up all the little dunes. By the dozen they perished as the water levelled them to mere mortal sand. There were some, then there was one, and then there were none.

The sweet memory was characteristic. Your toothy smile was always omniscient, as you sat across me sipping your coffee, as you scrunched up against my shoulder and we watched 'Friends', as you lay beside me with your head resting on my arm staring into my eyes. Your full lips were inviting, drawing this sailor like a siren-song. The gentle curve of your nose like a water slide propelling me into freefall into the deep pools of light in your eyes. And we talked, and we laughed. We laughed about nothing and talked about anything. Then we talked about nothing and laughed about anything. All the time we kept building these little memories. Like little pinpricks of diamond light in the black cape of sky. But late at night, in the darkest hour when only the three witches that stirred the simmering cauldron were up and about, one by one these stars were snuffed out. In their place remained little black dots as visible as a missing button on a black coat. And yet the memories kept fading away. There were some, then there was one, and then there were none.