I find myself walking down a wide sidewalk, I am watching my
step as a summer rain has just ended and the sandstone under my feet has a
tendency to be slippery. I do not know how I know this, I have never been here,
yet walked this way a thousand times.
I am in a time I
have only read in books. I know I am close to town as the houses that are
bordering the street sit like statues welcoming you into the heart of the
village. In this time, the houses close to town show importance, with carefully
cultivated gardens that mirror the greatness of what must lie within.
I take a deep
breath drinking in the roses that surely must be the trophies of this time and
place. The rain now passed has left the air clean and the sun that now shown
created sparkles like fairies in the raindrops that remained. I smile because I
am almost home.
As I turn the
corner I see my destination, a great white Victorian that only hints of its'
grandness through the massive old oaks and dogwoods, the front gardens are
lined with newly trimmed hedges, a trellis bursting with blooming roses serves
as its gate to the front door.
This is home, and
as if to confirm it, a rainbow appears in the distance perfectly framing the
grand structure. I see smiling faces greeting me on the front porch.
Now I can see myself
walking through the trellis to my loved ones beyond, but I am no longer a part
of that person. I am in bed, dreaming. I cannot hear the words, or even find
out who the people are.
In a week, or a
month, or even a year from now I will walk down that street again, just as I
have a thousand times. I will never know where this place is, who I was. I just
know this is more than a dream, and someday I might walk through that trellis
gate and I will understand.
