I'm growing bored.
The tumbler has stopped. She is suspended weightless above the valley.
There is a river now, like molasses it moved slowly across the valley, bringing a streamof blue to my sight.
Yes, this is still my dream. The colors are too precise, like a beautiful painting, the blues compliment the pinks. Only I would dream with an eye towards the art in a dream that no one else will ever see.
But it is time to wake up.
Nothing moves across the whole valley. I'm suddenly frightened.
When will this end?