IT SHATTERS

I dream. It is one of those dreams you dream half awake. I dream of a shattered world and realize that my uneventful day spent in front of the television follows me. I am seated on the rocky shore of lake in a valley. The mountains rise high and are steep, my dreamful gaze lowers, and I see the lake. It is calm, except for irregular waves that crush against the shore. I reach out with my leg and brush the surface of the water with my foot, it is cold, and the waves invite me in. I jump, and the silent sounds of the valley disappear. The water turns mud and the waves to roots. The lake is gone, and the mountains flatten. The sun that had so gently warmed my body, was now hidden from sight behind the thick leaves of a grove. My dream has shattered. The woods here are thin and tall, and white like bone. They twist and rise higher and higher. Two branches break from one, and it goes on. The leaves are a beautiful green. Thin and weightless they are rustled by the wind. I cannot see beyond, but I see a cow. Auburn hair covers it hide, and the hair on its head looks curly, as if the cow had been to the barber earlier in the day. Beneath the shade of the grove the cow observes me, and I observe it in return. It stands so far from me and yet I can see it with a clarity that surpasses the imaginable. In its right eye, I see the light of a setting sun shine on a city I do not recognize. The clouds are blue, red, yellow, and purple. In its left eye I see a dark moon that glows a weak pink. Slowly the cow opens its mouth and speaks, “wake up.” The words ring like muted bells, and my dream shatters one last time.