This bright light that surrounds, that has soaked, that is soothing is one with me. This cottony soft memory is a truth. I breathe, I hear it.
A melodious tune played on the lyre flows in the air. We are all dancing to it.
A sea of dandelions… Running as if I have wings, golden wings, I cross the sea. When did I start swirling? A gush of harmonious wind surprises me and I fall down, laughing loudly.
The dream continues every time I quietly see this bright light.
A painting Dandelions in the Sun by Oleg Riabchuk also presents one with such a bright and beautiful dream.
- Darkness and Pleonasm
- Agnes Obel and The Narrative
- A Would-Be Pirate Pasha de Roos and the Parkinson’s Law
- Interviewing A Busy Ant