Those poet dreamers...

Have you ever had a dream that you were flying? I used to have these dreams periodically when I was a kid. They would usually begin at my aunt’s and uncle’s house in Greeley, where a ramp led to their front door. I would start at the front door and run down the ramp, and by the time my feet reached the end, I was running on air and taking off into the sky. I was afraid of heights as a kid too, but that fear never seemed to surface in my flying dreams. I remember looking down at treetops and fields and thinking how green they were. I always knew when the dream was about to end because I started to float back down to the ground. I would try and kick my legs to get back into the sky, but the sense of buoyancy was gone.

Eventually (I think it was middle school), I became disillusioned with these flying dreams because I knew I would never be able to fly in real life. Before I went to bed, I would tell myself that I would not dream about flying, because the disappointment of having to wake up without that ability was too strong. I don’t think my imagination has been the same since. Dreamers sometimes drive me crazy. I want to shake them and say, “Snap out of it! Pull yourself together man!” But I think I’m going to start daydreaming more. There’s nothing wrong with a little escapism, right? And I think my imagination needs the practice.

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