A Dream -- Thursday 17 September

I dance with Grandma's rocking chair under the moonlit kitchen ceiling, laughter echoing like distant galaxies colliding. The ancient oak from earlier is now a sentinel by the window, its leaves whispering secrets of stardust in each raindrop. I hum tunes from The Clarendonians, while Archimedes watches with feline curiosity, his tail twitching like a metronome. The rocking chair creaks, slipping portals opening to memories of Mother baking cookies on rainy afternoons. I wonder if the clouds will hold their breath till evening, or let rain speak its heart before then. Mastermind's black chair looms in my mind's eye, a silent challenge amidst this whimsy.