A Dream -- Tuesday 27 October

I'm dancing with constellations in a rain-kissed cityscape, each star sibling distant yet familiar, their twinkles echoing Tolkien's soft whispers against Clarke's neon lights. Polka plays, a rhythm from Chicago's heart, warm as the first sip of Earl Grey on a chill morning. The International Polka Association's banner stretches wide like the American dream, while Zimmerman's words dance in the rain, "entirely new" and yet so comforting. I'm Winifred, the mysterious singer from the radio, my lyrics resonating with this lonely, beautiful scene.