These days my dreams all look the same
He dreamed. He was sitting at the apex of a gently sloping hill. The grass that surrounding him in a small circle was the bright green of spring. Beyond the delineation the ground was covered with a thick layer of clean white snow that stretched down to the shore and the icy waves that lapped on the stones there. The snow was untouched and held no tracks.
Behind him, a tree stretched its naked branches towards the sky, white magnolia flowers ready to unfold perched on the brown bark. The chill of the draft from the snow, the presence of the pure white blossoms that were opening themselves to the chilling air and the sight of the bright snow against the icy blue sky, sent waves of pleasure through him. He felt like a tuning fork struck by its own note, and forgot himself inside the song, his vibration.
The hill sloped gently down to the cold ocean below, where it had its toes in the bone freezing waves. He knew the pebbles and the stones at the shore would be naked and clearly visible through the cold water. Inside him, he could feel the water nip at the shore.
Everything in the dream was inside him, everything in the dream was him, it was made by him and played out inside him; the grass, the snow, the tree, the blossoms, the waves. Just like everything in the waking world did, he realized with a quick spasm that was over as soon as he noticed.
A black and brown sparrow was sitting on his hand. When he convulsed, the sparrow chirped but didn't release him. Instead, it dug its claws deep into his skin, blood seeping out between them. He barely registered it.
The hill was located in a long narrow ocean inlet surrounded on both sides by soaring mountains that dropped sheer into the water. The triangular summits of the mountains were covered with bluish-white snow. The sky shone white above him, like a halo. He was in the place inside his dreams that he had created from himself.