The dream whispers like a purr.
Delightful. Skipping merrily along.
As it glides off a cliff, to feel yourself lift
through the air. Flying. Because dreams are real.
In an alternate plain of existence. We see it. Or some of us see it.
Before the tempo falls.
We soar. Like hawks and song birds.
Migrating our souls to warmer climates.
Until we thaw out, or wake up
to find we could fly all this time!