Alastair Macleod 
The Choosing 

‘the sun was fierce outside but a gentle breeze lazily teased the filmy curtains. Hypnotically they moved to and fro. She dozed and slipped into a dream. She was standing in the corner of the courtyard, looking at a large terracotta olive oil jar. It had a voluptuous shape; moving from its narrow foot, curving gently up, and out, then round the big oval belly to the wide mouth. She looked in — it was empty except for a few stray leaves and stones — somehow she felt compelled, and, with a struggle she reached in and took them out. There, it was ready, ready to be filled.She awoke with a start — the dream had been vivid.’