dreaming

I like to dream in color, bright smears of color in so many different shades and hues that I can’t decide what to look at first. I turn in a great circle, seeing the world all around me, a startling contrast. I paint the air with my imaginary brushes in great swirling swoops. I am a sculptor, and I choose green. Not because it’s the trendy color of recycling, but because it’s alive and growing, like the fluorescent color I’m seeing everywhere on all the trees. Life again! I swirl myself into orange and red, suddenly I realize I’m making a horse, life-sized of course, like the ones I used to ride as a child. The air is thick with the warm haze of sunlight. I am smiling at the stained glass and know that what I’m making is good. My fingers are brushes and I stroke the air in downward fashion to make the long tail. a work in progress, never finished. I am happy.