She and the Saltwater Breeze

"This time of year Kenwood bursts with great big cherry blossoms. Like a canopy of pink clouds." She fell asleep so fast. She'd always asked how I did it but I'd fall asleep before I could explain. This time I stayed awake to watch her dream. I ran as fast I could. Faster than I thought I knew how through the early stages of rapid eye movement. I pulled up an old chair and watched the parade go by. I made it just in time. And as the sun tea brewed the colors infused and suddenly this black and white day had gone to an arc of spectral colors. We used to pretend we were smoking but it was only us exhaling warm air into the cold wind. That clean plastic smell of a Superman bubble bath. Now she was in the backseat of her grandfathers old Jaguar and the safe, warm Burlwood click of the glove box. Swinging her little feet off the caramel leather seat, looking out the window and talking to the trees. I hitched a ride on one of her neurons into another room where she was hanging with her grandmother, planting seeds in the backyard. She stared at a dandelion as if it were a person and starting talking to it. I was on her front porch now drinking sweet tea. Just me, the breeze and the gentle seaside groan of the rocking chair and the wood porch beneath speaking to each other. The marching band came now, with all sorts of people dressed as animals and all the children were smiling and laughing. Me and the neurotransmitters sat back and relaxed. I poured a glass of sweet tea for the monoamines and they were thankful. Now norepinephrine!, now serotonin! and now histamine! Finally I took her paw, kissed her forehead and joined her in dream.