Night floating wing dreams...
The smell of wings barbequing on the outdoor grill wafted pleasantly enough on the sunny spring air, across the deck, from flame to face, and jumped right up the nostrils.
Basking there for the first session of a new season, soaking in hot sun rays, ogling almost open, ice-free, water is an annual glory of mammoth proportions. It’s the culmination of a six month long dream.
Last night I dreamed the dream in my sleep. It was so pleasant I didn’t want to wake up. I stumbled in the early morning darkness to the kitchen to heat up a cup of coffee, trying to keep the dream alive.
As the sky lightened, and the first cup rolled over into a second, the Red Polls and Chickadees flew in for breakfast just outside my window.
Sneaking a peek out the kitchen door, I checked my barbeque.
“This is not the special day,” I murmured to myself, “but keep the dream close. It won’t be long now.”