This Festival of Dreams While the months seem like years and the pillars of tradition fall around us, some things remain constant as the wind takes her morning jog, gently kissing evergreen treetops whose silhouettes sway to eternal rhythms. A marching band of birdsong leads the way, softly serenading the sunrise, each note vibrating into the horizon, calling out the renewal of a brand new day. I try to remember how it used to be before time erases all normalcy. We used to hug one another as if a mere hello could never be enough. We used to dance together lost among the ecstasy of a song. We used to sing together with voices reaching for the stars. These memories seep into my dreams cradling me with their soft lull of reassurance, as if I had just come home from an old haunt, dipping into the refreshing wellspring of the heart. I awake to find the ghost of lost connection sitting at my kitchen table, beckoning me to reach deep into my memory for sustenance until community can safely rise again, and we can fall into the warmth of her arms.
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