Cropped header image by Sharnikarnikhil88.
Last night I dreamt I was with an old friend; the same one from Song of Storms, if I remember correctly.
I only remember fragments; I remember evenings of several days in which I walked home with him. The route itself had been fabricated within the dream; the most memorable piece of this route, or at least one route, was a sudden shift from an urban pathway to a glade in the middle of a shallow, loosely defined forest, a glade we’d known for our given lifetimes. The sky was a gradient ranging from orange to purple, and the stars started to show, and all we could hear was the ankle-height grass blowing in the wind. Continue reading