The Endless Dream (4)




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?






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