Flying DreamThe clouds are dark today. The blue of evening had soaked right through them, seeping like blueberries in winter. Such a rich ink blot.
Music soars with us this night, the trance is moving my fingers to write, the tapping of keys on the desk. Taking things further than before.
What would it be like to soar with those clouds? To watch the evening as it breaks into a hundred cities. Looking down at folk as they prepare their beds for monday morning, fluffing their pillows ready for sleep.
Everything is getting darker, the dark blue is draining out of the sky. Soon there will be nothing but the pinpricks of street lights, their sharp yellow points, positioned at regular intervals.
Where has the sun gone? Is he still thinking about us, as we watch the world for the evening? We should see.
Let's go, let's run with the evening as it descends into mist. Clouds are cool to the touch, and fade away when you brush them, chilling slightly as you breathe in their spray. The trails that you leave behind make tracks across the night sky. Everything tastes fresh above the cloudline. You can see the sun's retreat as it escapes around the globe, fleeing as you fly above the planet below.
The patchwork of evening spreads slowly, a blanket for the night ahead. Houses turn from brown and blue to gold little diamonds. Look down and you are the richest person in the world, counting the millions of twinkles as they stare up at you.
The darkness swallows everything up eventually, the colour is draining, the night is sweeping, and you are falling, falling, tumbling back to earth.