Lavender’s Electric 

Yesterday evening I was running amidst a misty-grey and white dusk. As I came back up my street toward home, sticking to the sidewalk for a path, there was a cool breeze.

It was after a storm.

So there was some dark purple and lavender in the sky.

And there were wishies everywhere.

Do you know what wishies are? They are little, white, floating seeds that look like fairies. If you catch one, you may make a wish and release it, and if the seed takes, your wish will grow true.

There were a lot of wishies about; whole trees of them blowing around, fallen from the storm. I was so intent on making the same wish, the one wish I always make, over and over and over and over and over and going from fallen tree piece to fallen tree piece to find wishies still on the branches and swifting here and there to catch and release them into the wind that, before I knew it, it was thundering and lightning again.

Another storm had come.

With a warm CRACK!, lightning struck the ground in the middle of the court behind my house. The sound echoed. I had seen the whole thing from down the lane: A purple and white streak descended downward from the skies and disappeared behind the trees.

I turned the part of the bend between me and home. I could see the house now. More lightning was reaching the ground now; closer, the electricity was visible: It traveled the ground and dispersed after every strike…

Of course the ground between me and home was wet.

This was a problem.

I had stayed too long.

So I laid stomach-side down on the sidewalk in order to better see via street-level which parts of the road and walk were not charging with electricity— I rolled right—Out of the way— For a surge was rushing toward me. It passed me by, traveling the white walk as I now lay in the street, on the black asphalt,

I counted thunder; the seconds. That’s how I knew when to run between the lightning, and sprinted home, the wind whipping, the rain falling—

Front porch, threshold, slam!— Inside.

The lights were off; perhaps there was no power. The house was empty. I stood there, in the foyer, dripping. Alive.

And, with that, I awoke amidst my cream linens, gold blanket and feather covers.

It is misting outside today.

And oh so very grey.

Like the light through the cracks in the blinds cracked my eyelids and my inner eye,

The code to my dream-projector.

The truths behind the metaphor.

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