Visions of unforeseen dreams
I pen down what I can’t see
Fields of long slender grass.
Perhaps with some flowers; yellow and juxtaposed between the green fur of the earth and blue air of the sky. Yellow flowers, and no other horrid hues. Only soft and mellow. Just enough to harmonize with the gentle breeze and the meek humming of the bees, so that when the wind blows against the grass, a pool of green ripples break free. Cascading down the rolling plains as one – meadows of daisies and dandelions.
The wind stops at the edge of the forest, where the grass disappears and all blooms are buried by yesterdays twigs. Where the air is no longer fresh blue, and trees shade a dim earthy dew.
There, at the edge of the forest, I will build my house. With wood and bark I lay foundations. With fibrous threads and thorny creepers I entangle a roof. With cottony buds and yellow petals I string my curtains, and they will always be open, for me to breathe in the green earth and gaze at the magnolia heavens.