2

The day started on a rainbow. I can't tell you where I was, but there was every color you can imagine flying above my head -- in the form of hundreds of birds. The plethora of multicolored songbirds whizzed around so fast I could hardly distinguish the colors. Racy reds mixed with glorious greens and yodeling yellows to combine magenta and turquoise and colors I couldn't even name. Occasionally a bird would stop fluttering around too high and too fast for me to see, and I would study it -- the shape of the beak, the squinty eyes, the exact shades of its feather colors. Sometimes I would recognize and name four or five colors before the bird would take off again, in its purposeless but beautiful flight. I liked watching the movement of their wings. Every movement was magnificent -- every turn, every dip. Birds were made to be seen, I concluded. The world was made to be seen. Seeing was living.

This place was lovely. I didn't want it to disappear. But like all my other dreams, I knew it had to.

One by one, the birds began plummeting forcefully to the ground, but slowly, almost in slow-motion. I watched as a stunning blue and violet songbird fell before my eyes from its natural place in the sky. As it reached the unholy ground, it's vibrant feathers began to fade until all the was left was a grey, colorless heap of death. All around me, lifeless and colorless birds landed until they surrounded my body. Trapped underneath thousands of ugly rotten birds, I screamed silently -- I couldn't hear myself. I tried to keep my eyes open as long as possible, tried to repaint the previous, vivacious scene in my head. All I could see for miles was grey feathers. Holding up my hand, I realized that even I was turning grey. Hyperventilating now, I shook my head and attempted to block out the sight of bland greyness. With a final scream I blinked.

I sighed and blinked again. Nothing. As usual. What will come, will come. I thought. If even in riddles, murk and darkness. My dreams always came. And they were always dark.

I decided to go for a walk today. I never explored the city. After swallowing my seemingly pointless depression pills and changing out of my soft nightgown into a musty-smelling pull over dress and moth-eaten sweater, I walked out of the door and down the hallway to the stairs. A perfect 168 steps later, I hit the bottom floor of the humble (humble because it had nothing to brag about) apartment building and shuffled toward the door. Reaching out before me, I grasped the handle and swept outside.

It was quiet. As I walked forward though, trying to count my steps, I heard a strange noise. I lost all sense of where I was and just hoped I wasn't walking in the middle of some alley. God only knows what could be crawling around in this forsaken city.

Music. "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" was playing somewhere to my right. One of my favorites. Judy Garland's voice was so sweet it made my ears hurt.

As I walked forward, I tripped on something round that made a clanging noise against the pavement.

"It is not your fate to fall at my hands!" A deep but fatigued voice burst from my right. I jumped, unaware that I shared anyone's company.

Unsure how to respond, I stood in front of the voice for a moment. I heard Judy's voice again, and couldn't help myself from humming.

"You like Judy?" the voice asked. I kept humming until the end of the frase and replied yes.

"You're a smart lady. She's one of the best." I smiled. Then I heard the voice humming along with me -- several octaves lower. When we reached the chorus, the voice harmonized and tapped a foot on the sidewalk to match the beat of the song. Our additions were excellent. The song ended and so did our sing-along.

"That was lovely," I told the voice sitting across from me on the pavement.

"All you can say are riddles," it replied. I told him my name and thanked him for the song. As I turned around and started walking away, trying now to locate anything familiar, he shouted his name down the street to me. What will come, will come, I thought for the second time today (although for complete different reasons). If even in riddles, murk and darkness.

I made a new friend today. And while our meeting was somewhat dark, it was also much brighter than the dream that woke me up this morning.