When I look backwards or forwards in life, I can hear music for every image; a theme song. This is the first time I can remember that the absence of lyric and rhythm is most appropriate.
Lately, I have found myself thinking about my thousand acres on a hill. For me at least, when life gets crazy, and the world seems like it is about to come crashing down, I drift into a daydream. I know that our modern way of thinking we attribute daydreaming, like mine, to finding a “happy place;” an escape from reality. This may or may not be the case, so stop shrinking me.
When I dream about my acres, I dream a living dream. I can almost feel everything present in my dream. Every time it haunts me, I stand at dusk, in a chilling warmth. I don't know, I think it must be about six o’clock mountain standard time and about 15 Celsius—that’s about 60 Fahrenheit. To me, it’s the perfect temperature. In the dream, I stand in a t-shirt, and as the sun sets, a light breeze gives me a chill albeit an overwhelming inner warmth. Waist high grass tickles my fingers as I suck in a deep breath of cold air. I look over at the house. I can see smoke pluming from the chimney. As it gets darker, the lights in the house start to come on. I think Laura must have been bumping into things.
“In that tiny wind, I hear someone whisper.”
As I look past the house and the small mountain that lies beyond it and under it, I see in the sky the last streamers of pink, orange and yellow pierced by the first twinkling stars of the night. Really though, they look like airplanes. It makes no matter to me, both are equally as beautiful. In that tiny wind, I hear someone whisper. It kind of sounds like the creepy whispering in a horror movie, but it isn't creepy at all. It overpowers the wind and adds to my warmth.
As the dream comes to an end, the colors fade, as colors do at night, and I walk slowly up the hill in the bluish-grey night towards the house. As I step onto the dirt driveway, I can hear the dog barking. ‘he’s probably chasing a bird again,’ I think to myself. I hear Laura shriek. My heart races, but then I hear her laugh. One of the kids must have done something funny or something like that. I smile.
There on my dirt drive, I stop once more. I look back though the mountain's cleavage, where the day’s sun was shining, and marvel at the stars (or airplanes). I let out what sounds like a sigh, but really, it is just the most overwhelming joy that cannot be contained. A boy grabs my left pinky finger, and rest his head on my thigh. He lets out a big sigh and looks up at the sky too. What a little twerp. I put my hand over his head, and look down at him. He grabs it and we walk together to the house.
When I come back to life, I find myself reading a bank statement from Wells Fargo. “Oh well.”
