The Lane I Cannot Visit Again

I was walking down a lonely lane. It was breezy. Draughts of breeze kept passing by, touching me softly. Sometimes it was cool, sometimes cold. And sometimes it used to stop; it was warm during those moments, as if time had come to a stand still.
I walked a few steps ahead, most of the times looking at the ground. I noticed some familiar pebbles scattered on the way. I picked them up. Some were transparent like crystals. I could not recollect seeing some of them before. But I could recognise some signs the others had.
While I was observing this, suddenly it started drizzling. The droplets were small. I wiped those off from my cheeks. It started raining a little more heavily. The pebbles were damp now. I could not bear holding them longer. So I dropped them there and moved ahead.
Slowly the sky cleared and I saw the sun smiling soothingly at me. There were some more pebbles, dry and clean, reminding me of the happy times. They just brought a subtle but says-it-all smile on my lips.
Suddenly, I heard somebody calling me from far behind, almost from the end of the road. The voice was coming from far away and, from the place I was standing, it sounded absolutely unfamiliar. My eyes tried hard to see and eventually gave way, they opened and I realised where I was. I was at this end of the memory lane where the sequence of memories ends, i.e., in the present. And the voice was of the most recent inclusion in my life, my husband. I got to know that I cannot go back to the memory lane again but in dreams.