Sweven

No dreams remembered on the morning of the 25th.
This morning, the 26th

LUCID: Winter Wander

Sunbathers scattered across summery sands. Lake, shimmering cliffs and vales of ice. Sprays of mist spew upward from the sheen. Refracted sunlight shifts into ghosts of geometric shapes. No phone. No camera. It is uncaptured.

Scale rugged ways. Up here the world is chill. Run the ridge of a deep plowed trail. Far below, specks of children play away the day. Thin ice sheet reaches opposite ridge. Run back and forth. Each step a crackle. Scolded. Retreat to ridge. Run with the wild ire of a foal set free.

Waterfall roars right. To behold it, people stream down iced cliffs. Friend follows their current. I refuse. Run my ridge and reach an uncle's home. His house overflows with children. Help him herd them until the sky grows bruised.

Where is my cliff crossing friend? Lost? Fallen? Fractured? Dead? Fear. Cousin accompanies into snow and shadow. Dunes stand deep. Slog and seek. Fear spirals. Spirals. Spirals. Peaks. Not even dancing moonbow magic shifts the sorrow. "It's okay. The aliens got him. He's alive out there, somewhere," Cousin reassures. Aliens? Fear? Sorrow?

A stealthy finger through palm. "OH! We're dreaming." Declaration unacknowledged. Cousin is gone. All are gone. Wander on. Search for other dream-swept souls.