The other night I dreamt her in the soft colors of memory, a big girl with brothers and a front yard to play in, all a glow with flowers: Hollyhocks, roses, lilies of all shades, and sunflowers. I like to think it’s the future peeping back at us, but dreams are such uncertain things. I only know they’re true for certain when they come in threes, one night after another, or when there’s something under my head - like wedding cake - to feed prediction.
Tonight I think my dreams will be slow, meaningless things, with the sounds of late night radio running through them. I can’t wait to welcome them in.