Brown Bird XXIV

It was a dream. I had a small box, and I picked you up. You were so small. I curled you up gently in the bottom and cradled you out into the field. A field of soft clover stretched to the horizon. Soft and delicate on the feet. A wall of Black-Eyed Susans and Buttercup flowers stood knee high, tracing the clover’s edge. I stood there in the never-ending meadow, with my box, watching the wind caress the wildflowers. You walked up and sat next to me on the soft clover. You were bigger and healthier. The tumors and the grey were gone, as if they’d never been there to begin with. You took a deep breath, but not one of exhaustion; it was slow and smooth on the exhale. Content and comfortable, you stared off into the cascading hues of blues and purples of the setting sun. When I opened the box, it was empty, so I tossed it on the ground, and sat next to you. We sat until the sunset, breathing deeply, and feeling the wind on our skin.