A Dream

Every morning, in the dark hours when then world is asleep, at about 4.30 am, a chill wind arises that blows across the land, and it wails and it rages with strength enough to knock the tallest building flat and tear mighty trees from the ground, but the leaves do not move. Nothing is blown away and nothing moves, yet all around is the sound of a howling gale, of banshees mourning their deaths to come; of millions of leaves rustling manically in the wind -- but the leaves do not move.

And then after what seems like an eternity, the sound dies down to an unearthly hush as the wind enters our hearts, and it is then that we start to dream.

Some of us dream dark dreams of despair; of falling from high places and of losing loved ones, of dying and Death, of deceit and other dreadful things. It is they who wake next morn with tears running down their cheeks, or hearts that feel as heavy as lead, and it is they who crawl tiredly through the day snapping at all those who wander into and out of their lives day to day.

Some of us fight the chill wind, or perhaps are touched by passing angels in the night, and dream instead bright dreams of flying though the skies, of walking alongside loved ones, of birth and Heaven, of colours and smells, of raindrops in airplane hangers and sunlit hawker centres. It is they who wake next morn with smiles on their faces and cheer in their hearts, and dance their ways through the rest of their days glowing wamrly on all those around them.

Some of us dream bittersweet dreams, I know not why, of wonderful, happy things that vanish when we come-to, of charming and beautiful people that aren't there when we wake, and we wake with smiles on our faces but wetness on our cheeks. And we walk through life making what we will of it, choosing, as we do, to be either happy or sad.

But for some reason, most of us forget our dreams. And the leaves do not move.

All this is true, I know it to be so, because I was awake last night when the wind came, and though wide awake I began to dream a living dream, and I dreamt that I was writing all this on paper, and in the morn when I woke it was with a smile on my face and tears in my eyes, and this story in my hands. And the leaves outside moved gloriously with the breeze.