it must be past my bedtime...
i need to rest, but i'd also like to travel.
drift into another level of being, something simultaneously separate from and intermingled with my self.
wander through rich, jewel toned dreams full of sweetness, kissed by the breezes outside my window.
maybe i'll get to fly.
those kinds of dreams need a soundtrack--stairstep voices facilitating travel between visions. sound and symbolism.
or maybe an old fashioned feather bed...high off the ground, set in mahogany, draped in snowy gossamer sheets of cotton and silk embroidered pillowcases. situated in an eastern bedroom filled with morning sun that eases through delicate french doors.
what would it mean to be wrapped in strong, brown arms on that morning, in that room, in that bed, after those dreams?