Dreaming Imagination

There I lay, perked up comfortably on warm ground, at some forrest’s edge, under night’s starred sky. As I lay, I watch, awestruck yet accepting, entranced by the dance above: Shadows were mingling, of winged beings, seemingly in a respectful conversation, spoken in/by the language of “flight” (was it to me, and/or to each other? Was it a natural scene or was it a special play for me?). They came from all over, and One, from nowhere. The big Flock of small birds and the pair of Geese from beyond the tree-lined hilltops left, the Plane from the other end, the two might collide.. I saw a bloody scene flash across my dreaming imagination.. But the Flock did what Plane cannot.., it reacted, peeling itself back, disassembling, and then, like liquid, it reforms. The Eagles come from beyond the thin purple night clouds, from waaay above, and too they go; in and out, soaring up then diving again through these clouds and gliding gracefully as to say, “look what I can do.” And the figure of a Man, this naked Man — for his shadow was so well-defined against the star-lit endlessness — came from the thin of the air,.. Was it a wish granted? He just wanted to join this conversation so bad.