Jean Albus
Dream Creek
In her dreams, she can fly. High above the earth, looking down on the town where she lives, swooping low, smiling as she brushes the leaves at the very tip-tops of the trees with her fingers. In her dreams, she is wind, a powerful force, gusting through tall prairie grass, winding through city streets, windows rattling in time with her laughter. In her dreams, she floats, easy and graceful as a yellow summer dress, the cool water of the creek bubbling over her, lifting her and setting her down, gently, gently. She floats, she slides, she swirls and twists, turning, expanding and contracting, her body light and soft as cotton. In her dreams she is translucent, moving, free.
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