Dust & Vapor

I have this dream. One where I sit at my desk, a broad rich surface made of Tigers Eye Maple. It swells like a city beneath me, piled high here and there with book skyscrapers and single floors made of paper. Pens and pencils, like pedestrians, scatter about its spacious avenues. Some are relaxed, and others still, are with great purpose and serious intent…

The lights are low.
Humid photons.
So the shadows linger in a most relaxed way. Almost tropical. For there certainly is fertility.
It’s a room where nothing is ignored, and every scratch upon the wall is a story to tell.

Everything is allowed here. Everything has some meaning, some life to give. Yes, that’s it- Nothing here is dead, nothing at all. Even the dust is personified, each given a name, having become an all inclusive family.

Earl Grey with milk and honey smell off in the distance, and I smile; she is coming. Even after these years do I become giddy, and feel the change in the spin of my cells at the thought of her.

Still… after all these years.

Buzzed up.
And in a way that neither coffee nor tea would understand.
So I smile.

And sure enough… to the right of me tea, while to the left of me her free hand to my left shoulder, then a kiss to my left cheek.
With an ‘I love you” along the way as my ear was passed.

And with her other hand now freed of its aromatic burden, it finds its way home to the shoulder of my right. And she draws closer still, till like scarfs, her arms and torso envelope and wrap me up.

Time stands still. Even heartbeats. Even breath.

Only the steam from the tea seems unaffected, for it swirls away playfully, excited at the thought of finding its faithful friend dust.

And then the two settle, becoming weighted to some surface for a time. At least till one is brought to a boil again, and the other kicked up in a breeze.

This dream continues… and why would it not.

A boy can dream you know…