Then I hit a stop light.
I’m only going to work, we’re I’ll sit inside and do what I do every day. And those days become weeks, years, and so on, and in those weeks or years maybe I’ll live out some of these dreams, or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’m destined to leave them at that, dreams. Either way, I hope I’ll still look to notice the small art along the way. The gnarled tree stumps arranged in the yard, the flowers spilling from paint buckets lining the cracked concrete walkway. The amber glint of the antique bottles sitting on the porch rail.The light turns green. Time to go.
Whatever happens I just hope I’ll keep dreaming.