The forest was endless. Not miles, not swallowed-up horizons. Endless.
Where trees ended, trees began. Trees circled round the torus of the sky above. Trees ran far, but trees only met themselves. They just kept going. Onward. Endless. And I flew just above the branches, close enough to taste pine needles. Just above them, I was just as endless as the trees.
I was too light to fall, but far too heavy to reach the green above. I moved in three dimensions, but the world only followed certain lines. There were only certain planes. My path was limited.
Below, things were dark, heavy, and rich with the scent of falling pine needles. Memories. Fears. Shafts of light pierces through the endless shoots and little spears, just enough to reveal so little.
Above, there was only an endless green. Above was meaningless. Irrelevant. It had no context.
That is, until I saw a tower in the distance.
Then flight became movement. Along became forward. Time turned into distance traveled.
The tower, you see, gave me direction. It gave me more meaning than up and down. More than heavy, scented earth and unimaginable skies. I always had wings, but the tower gave me height.
I rushed along the surface, up and up and up. It wasn't smooth, but marked in a language too fast to comprehend with eyes in motion. They told me that I was racing, that I had speed, velocity, acceleration, but they didn't tell me where I was going. Where I'd been. Even where I was.
And at the top of the tower? There was a woman. A woman with red hair, without a face.
She wasn't a woman; women have faces. She wasn't a woman; women have names.
She was a muse. She was a reason. She was a destination.
Women are none of these. She wasn't a woman.
But I still try to find her, even now. Up and up.
She gives wings wind.
An alucinante Anonymous asked you: Write about a dream you once had.
This really is a meditative dream I've had since high school, when I fell in love with the wrong girl and never quite recovered. I just keeping putting other girl's faces on, hoping she 'fits'.
(c) 2013 Lawerence Hawkins. Seeking writing prompts, questions, review requests, or any feedback.