Where Are You This Moment? Only in My Dreams.

[ella-kessler.livejournal.com]

Dawn, Wednesday December 23, Day 206

I wake up slow, gentle. It's cold in my room but I'm warm, wrapped in my Gram's quilt an' the ol' fleece throws an' the flannel sheets. 'S been a cold winter an' the snow makes gettin' wood difficult. I look at the window, the white gauze curtains hangin' still over it, blurrin' everythin' but I can see the colors on the clouds startin' ta show the sun's comin'.

As I stare at the curtains images start comin' back ta me from a dream. Standin' above a dark city of towers with bright lights. A guitar that plugged inta the wall an' a great soundin' song that's almost rock but... I don't know... that's kinda fuzzy. An' a guy in the snow, smokin', whose jacket opened in the back and spread wide inta wings that soared him out inta the city.

I blink my eyes a couple times an' gaze at the ceilin', tryin' ta remember it all but it's disjointed an' doesn't make much sense. But the city was called Manhattan and the guitar-playin' angel called himself-- or I called him-- Corey. An' the music made me want ta dance an' the city made me want ta laugh an' cry an' I wish I could 'member more a it. Whether I saw more than jus' that li'l bit from the balcony.

That's all there is. 'S a lot ta 'member from a dream, I reckon. An' here I am, lyin' in bed in the farm house, with the sounds a the farm wakin' up slow. I sigh an' frown a li'l 'cause after a dream like that I ain't lookin' forward ta another day a chores an' maybe shovelin' an' choppin' wood an' hopin' there's a crop 'r two grown enough for pickin'.

I hear Daddy cough in his room. 'Might be my 'magination but it sounds worse an' worse every day. He won't see a doctor an' even if he wanted ta, he can't leave the house now on account a the snow an' the cold. I put my li'l embers heater in his room so he'd have two a them an' so Chris wouldn't have ta give up his. It sure makes the mornings cold.

Sighin' again, I throw off the covers an' wrap my arms 'round myself, then pull on my robe an' slip my feet inta the thick slipper boots I made a few winters ago with 'Manda. Jus' another winter day on the farm is what I've got ahead a me an' there's no use pinin' for somethin' else in bed. I can daydream 'bout towered cities an' flyin', guitar-playin' Corey while I shovel.

Daddy coughs again an' I shiver. Don't know if it's at the cold or at the sound a that cough.


[CLOSED]

Where Are You This Moment? Only in My Dreams.

[ella-kessler.livejournal.com]

Dawn, Wednesday December 23, Day 206

I wake up slow, gentle. It's cold in my room but I'm warm, wrapped in my Gram's quilt an' the ol' fleece throws an' the flannel sheets. 'S been a cold winter an' the snow makes gettin' wood difficult. I look at the window, the white gauze curtains hangin' still over it, blurrin' everythin' but I can see the colors on the clouds startin' ta show the sun's comin'.

As I stare at the curtains images start comin' back ta me from a dream. Standin' above a dark city of towers with bright lights. A guitar that plugged inta the wall an' a great soundin' song that's almost rock but... I don't know... that's kinda fuzzy. An' a guy in the snow, smokin', whose jacket opened in the back and spread wide inta wings that soared him out inta the city.

I blink my eyes a couple times an' gaze at the ceilin', tryin' ta remember it all but it's disjointed an' doesn't make much sense. But the city was called Manhattan and the guitar-playin' angel called himself-- or I called him-- Corey. An' the music made me want ta dance an' the city made me want ta laugh an' cry an' I wish I could 'member more a it. Whether I saw more than jus' that li'l bit from the balcony.

That's all there is. 'S a lot ta 'member from a dream, I reckon. An' here I am, lyin' in bed in the farm house, with the sounds a the farm wakin' up slow. I sigh an' frown a li'l 'cause after a dream like that I ain't lookin' forward ta another day a chores an' maybe shovelin' an' choppin' wood an' hopin' there's a crop 'r two grown enough for pickin'.

I hear Daddy cough in his room. 'Might be my 'magination but it sounds worse an' worse every day. He won't see a doctor an' even if he wanted ta, he can't leave the house now on account a the snow an' the cold. I put my li'l embers heater in his room so he'd have two a them an' so Chris wouldn't have ta give up his. It sure makes the mornings cold.

Sighin' again, I throw off the covers an' wrap my arms 'round myself, then pull on my robe an' slip my feet inta the thick slipper boots I made a few winters ago with 'Manda. Jus' another winter day on the farm is what I've got ahead a me an' there's no use pinin' for somethin' else in bed. I can daydream 'bout towered cities an' flyin', guitar-playin' Corey while I shovel.

Daddy coughs again an' I shiver. Don't know if it's at the cold or at the sound a that cough.


[CLOSED]