A waify individual approaches a group of friends drinking and playing cards under a tree.
“I was you in a past life.” The stranger says, pointing with her spindly finger to the drunkest player. He barely hears her, but sleeps badly for the next three nights, squirming and sweating under the sheets.
This isn’t the first time someone has tried to play tricks on the man. This town is full of vagrants and eccentrics. But after the third night, he dreams deeply. He dreams he is a child on a farm, tending to the pigs and chickens. The animals are tender and seem to rely on him. The goats in their pen stare up at him with their inquisitive eyes, shaped like keyholes, and ask “What next?”
He is also a goat. His spiral horns knock against doorways. The soil has never been more enticing, and he digs at it with his hooves, searching for tufts of green.
The one that leads you to understand time happens all at once.
She will show you the way.