In a dream, I was walking down a long, dusty country road. On either side, fields of wildflowers stretched as far as the eye could see. Bees buzzed on a mission, and small swarms of butterflies gracefully danced across the air.
In the distance stood a once-proud house now beginning to crumble as its last days were numbered. I heard the voice of what could have been an angel singing softly, alone in her thoughts. I got closer, noticing she wore a white linen dress, and her hair was long and curly like Shirley Temple's all those years ago.
I stood firm on the dusty walkway, rubbing my eyes to see if she was real or just my imagination playing tricks on me. She was putting cut wildflowers on a worn-out trestle, aged and paintless like the rest of the small house. They're beautiful, I said as she continued to sing softly, taking a moment to smile at me, which found its way straight to my heart.
I didn't want to walk away, but my feet began to move, and she grew smaller until she was out of sight. Her song stayed with me throughout the darkness of the night, when everything was quiet until tomorrow came again.
Mike 2025
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