Morning Daydreams

Sometimes, when the windows of my room becomes fogged up from the morning dew, and the water droplets, collecting weight, roll down ever so slowly, forming snaking water trails across the glass, I feel a chill run up my spine. The blur of the outside world shines through the dew, and it looks for all the world like I was awake in a dream. Is this world that I gaze at real?

Its the tiny details. Its the splash of colour on each single drop of water. Its the chill I feel emanating from the glass itself. Its the air in my room tastes a little musky from having the door closed all night. Its the sound of larks which I might have wished were nightingales.

I find myself just staring, my mind awander in the misty colours. I see myself walking through this field of blurry colours, exploring every nook and crany, finding many things, wondrous similitudes hidden beneath this fabric of seeming-reality. What else can I find?

Always, though, my morning daydream would be broken at the sound of the alarm clock, preset to screech at the appointed time. Darn.

Star Sojourner

Once upon a time, I had a dream.

It was a dream set across continents, over rough waters, past mighty mountain ranges, through murky forest trails. I dreamt of travel, of a life of wandering, self-abandonment, self-isolation, self-imposed exile. I dreamt of taking what I can physically hold, and just leave where I was to go on a journey, bound for no where in particular, only following each days whims and the long road. I dreamt of lying down at night with the glorious tapestry of the Milky Way as my ceiling, the swaying grass my mattress, and the misty fog my blanket.

I dreamt the life of a sojourner, never staying long at any place, drawn almost compulsively to the road. Of meeting people one day, then leaving without a trace the next. Or perhaps next week. Perhaps a month. There would be no set rule, no permanency; just the whim, and the road.

Who knows, maybe some day I might go on such a journey.

Perhaps one day, with you...