Siesta

BWC Village

 I swing softly, close my eyes and inhale the blue. The last hours of the afternoon take me deep into a dream of asynchronous times. The elevator doors slide open to reveal a moment of perplexity; a famous actor working in a supermarket, an old friend pregnant again, someone asking me “why didn’t you open the door?” and me, back in high-school, unsure, ever so unsure, the brain racing in a struggle to make sense of it all. The supermarket was inside the school, the elevator to the right of the stairs with a lounge inside, an oval corridor around the oval building, a parking lot filled with autumn trees whispering to me. Suddenly, I awake. A few hours turned into a few moments. Sharply conscious of that dream, I relive it in my mind, desperately trying to capture it forever. I close my eyes for a second or two and exhale. The afternoon is gone. Perhaps tomorrow the dream will swing back. I walk back. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll understand how I picked a golden leaf from the floor in my dream and I am now walking inside holding it in my hand.

Writer's Dash