I Once Dreamt a Dream
Look around. Look up. Take some time to soak up the air, the breeze of winds, a rush of petals as they find their place to the grass below. The world is rich in colour, vibrancy, and audace. The world dares greatly. In being, the world resides. It’s the place from which it moves. The intention through which the effortless motions can rise and falter.
There are places. Corners, pebbles, stones. Murals, seats, steps, and bones. There are trees, reaching higher than one’s capable of perceiving. And there are many trees after. There are birds, whistling and chanting stories and creations of their own.
And there they are, the colours. They shoot the skies like stars. They provide a palette that is the Earth itself, tending to the artists that all of us are and embody. And we paint. We dance. We cry.
There are streets, lean and wide, and never lost. Then there are rivers, banks, bodies of water, and countries to hold the puzzle together. There’s erosion, relief, heights and lows and everything in-between.
There is you. There is me. There is me, thinking of someone, something, somedream. Dreaming a dream. There is you, thinking of someone, something, somedream. Dreaming a dream.
I once dreamt a dream, and I thought it was you. I once dreamt a dream, and I thought it was the Earth. And it was. It so was.