Shh, I'm Sleeping

The sky was the blue of memory this past weekend, the sun was the gold of good old days.
The rain washed sighs and signs and sins away.
There is a certain heaviness of warmth on the wind that erases care.
I bathed in it, floated on it.

This will be the fortieth summer of my life.

It landed as lightly as a butterfly, all surprise and delight in the late morning on Father's Day.

I laughed in the woods with my daughter. We shared our books and our jokes.
We blinked in the campfire smoke by the Ottawa River.
There was sunshine and brunch on a Sunday.
We have our ways and our days, and they are beautifully perpetual.

I begin to suspect that I came here to dream, and the ones I dream came here to dream too, and they dream me.

I dream you.