A Dream -- Tuesday 15 September

I dance with Grandma's rocking chair under the starlit kitchen ceiling, laughter echoing like distant galaxies colliding. The ancient oak from earlier stands sentinel at the windows, its branches intertwined with sunlight that filters through the rain, like Post cereal marshmallows melting into milk. I wonder if trees whisper secrets in their rustling leaves, akin to the whispers of space dust carried by every raindrop. I hear Cicero's words mingling with the radio singing "Just have a lean on it," as Grandma's laughter burns away shadows, wild and unstoppable like a slipstream portal opening.