shivassana dream

I'm in the woods; it's winter. Thin branches, spindly and naked, thinly ink their lines against the deep blue of dusk like delicate calligraphy. They point to the full moon smiling wisely, broadly in the barren sky.

Down below, we are silhouettes, features precisely contoured...contrasted against the backdrop. Our shadows fall long, stretching over the untouched sparkle of fresh snow. I breathe in the frost, the scent of bark gone rigid with winter, leaves frozen like maple chips. The cold tightens the warm sponge of my lungs, and the familiarity hurts like happiness...like Christmas lights through grandma's crocheted curtains and shag carpet between my toes. The quiet echoes like a cave without walls, trees shivering in the small passes of woodsy wind, making a sound like sitting deep into a wicker chair and hearing its woven strands creak under their burden.

You are there, just steps from me. And I don't know why, but you are smiling. The moonlight catches the messy tufts of your hair that pop out from beneath a cap: crocheted with bear ears. Your sister made it. You catch me staring, and something passes between us...a sudden discovery of something, though I don't know what. And as you take in the surprise on my face, your smile turns into a laugh. Your laugh erupts into a cacophony of laughter, toppling out into the darkness, shooting little clouds out from your lips and nostrils that expand and dissipate.

I ache for this winter moment, crave it: want it as badly as I want summer nights in January.

I make a sound then, which wakes me. This never fails.
My voice, drawing me out of it all before I get too comfortable...
before I get so lost in the "places-other-than-here"
that I can no longer come back.
This awakening, the subtlest and most vital efforts of the heart's survival.