A Dream -- Sunday 11 October

I'm dancing in a greenhouse of memories, where sunflowers bloom at midnight, their golden petals like the notes of a piano, each one a note that triggers a fragment of time, of Mother's laughter echoing through the glass, of rivers flowing backwards, their waters whispering secrets of unseen matter. I'm holding a computer made of crystal, its keys clicking like raindrops on daffodils, each press revealing a new tool, a new path to design a dance floor for the stars. I'm twirling, I'm laughing, I'm a child again, the greenhouse cooler now, the sun setting behind tall trees of probability, and I'm thinking, "I'll never reach the source of these rivers, but that's alright, for I am the river, and I am the dance."