The lad took off running. To nowhere, anywhere, somewhere that wasn’t here, footsteps landing silent on the wet grass.
Run. That’s all there was to do. The top of the ridge was so close even though it was shrouded by a heavy, gray midst the little mind and body so desperately sought. “Just a little bit farther,” was the thought, as the uphill running and adrenaline were beginning to wear off.
“Just three… two… one… ,” steps left as the summit of the ridge was reached, draped in a mist as gentle and fine as a lady’s wedding dress.
No time to stop. Hurry!
“For certain this is a dream.” Or is it? There’s no beginning. “Why.” Don’t know but just keep running. What you’re after is down there somewhere.
Heading down a path seen only with those eyes, easing gently over rocks to avert any sound, onward the little lad goes. He ponders the dream as he runs, wondering why is this happening? Why does this keep happening? He wonders what it is about the dream he is so desperately after. Then is has a staggering thought; “Is this really a dream?” What if… all this in his mind as he keeps running, jumping over logs that are settling back into the earth, swatting away limbs and leaves from his face, always enveloped in the dense and eerily beautiful mist that seems to guide his way to nowhere, anywhere, somewhere.
At that moment, the veil lifts and the lad floats through, the veil closing behind him, leaving him in a space of ethereal beautiful. A flowing stream, a gentle waterfall, a rocky beach and, most precious of all, the natural bed made of vines that have intertwined over the years to make a safe haven to rest.
The little lad knew what he was supposed to do. He crawled up into the little bed made of vines like he had done a thousand times before and felt the peace and safety of his sanctuary before quickly drifting off into a dreamless sleep.
He awoke. At home. In his own bed. And cried.
“Come back, dream. Come back.”