A Dream's Reflection

I watched the Pink Pampas dance in the wind. Like ballerinas, they moved in unison, a graceful blur of pink against the canvas of the world. As I walked forward, my hands grazed against the soft grass that reached almost to my mid thigh. Each blade of grass was a unique paintbrush. The kind of tool that Van Gogh or Da Vinci would use to create a masterpiece. Out of the corner of my eye, a flash of white startled me. I looked down and realized it was just my dress flowing in the wind. The sheer Nylon and Silk drifted around me in the light breeze.

    I turned in a full circle, trying to remember how I got here. With the brief motion, my long brown hair twirled around me reaching out to the sky. I looked down to see my dress also floating through the air. I laughed in delight, spinning even faster and faster. Dizziness soon brought me toppling to the ground. Sprawled out in the grass I waited for the world to stop turning. Once everything became still I looked up at the sky, a vast pallet of colors. The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky with strokes of pink, purple, orange and red.

  I stood up again, with a slight wobble in my step and continued walking. Then I noticed a large tree sitting by its self in the sea of grass. It was like a lone lily gently floating in a clear reflective pond. I ran toward it, my feet rhythmically moving through the grass, my dress a white streak behind me.

I soon slowed to a stop with the giant Dogwood several feet in front of me. White flowers occasionally floated down from the web of branches above me. Peacefully gliding down, landing on the soft bed of grass and mulch. Hanging from the sturdiest looking branch was a swing. It was the kind of rope swing a father and a son would spend quality time putting together. First, they would tie two pieces of rope to a sturdy block of wood. Then the father would watch his son climb up a tree looking for the perfect spot to place it. I sat down on the auburn plank of wood, my hands loosely griping the ropes on each side of me. My feet dangled beneath me as I looked out at the grassy field.

  I began to sway my feet back and forth. Before I knew it, I was swinging far above the ground. I felt like a bird soaring through clouds, parallel to the sun. With happiness furnishing my heart, I glowed with joy. I now had almost a full view of the surrounding terrain, only a few tree branches blocked my sight. The meadow stretched far across the area, then finally touching the tree line. A forest of Birch trees lined one half of the grassland the other half turned into rolling hillsides that went on to the horizon.  Each blade of grass swayed with the one next to it, turning into a blur of green, yellow and light brown. Winding through the terrain was a small dirt trail that I did not notice before.

  Within seconds, I was off the swing, running toward the narrow pathway.  When I finally reached it, I was exhausted. I took a deep breath, inhaling a series of scents. I could smell the sweet fragrance of wild flowers, grass, dirt and the summer breeze. As I caught my breath, I contemplated which way to travel. Should I go left into the Birch trees or go the opposite way toward the hills, I could not decide. I sat down on the plush grass and leaned up against a large Grey rock. I thought deeply about my dilemma. Growing next to the rock was a beautiful Indian paintbrush. Its red petals as vibrant as the lipstick that the 1920s flappers generously used. I closed my eyes imagining a life of fashion and glamor.

  Then I heard a familiar voice calling my name. The man’s voice repeated again, in a soft tone: Willow, Willow. Who is calling me, I wondered.  Willow, wake up, he said while gently nudging my shoulder. I opened my eyes, looking down at me was a young handsome man. Behind him, thousands of bright stars decorated the night sky. I thought about what I just dreamt, running through fields, swinging beneath a giant tree, it all seemed so distant. I sat up and looked around. The dim moonlight shone down though the branches above. Hanging from the tree was a swing that looked all too familiar. As sleep drifted from me, reality filled its place. I must have fallen asleep in Paul’s arms, beneath the branches of this old Dogwood tree.