Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.
Dream Weaver
By Sarah Horton
I dreamed the world was a place of love and harmony . . .
Dream Lover . . . What dreams may come
You are my dream lover – thinking of my love, my sweet heart . . . (song pops into my head)
Dream
The snow is falling . . . hard.
The air is thick with it . . . in my nose.
I wander on the path while the winds blow.
I slip, and almost lose my footing.
The pathway is blurred from the flakes and wind blowing.
Soon, there is no side view or peripheral vision.
Instantly, only one foot in front of the other and I think— if I keep moving it will clear.
Clearly, I now step ahead — one foot, then another, and another.
My nose is running, the cold freezes my cheeks as the snowflakes continue to gather and melt on my eyebrows — dripping down into my eyes.
Blinking, here I am, here I am . . . step by step . . . one foot then another . . . into the dark and bitter cold just a breath away.
My breath turns to tiny crystals, and the snowflakes are landing on my tongue now.
Running out of air, I try to take a deeper breath.
My throat is frozen in the process.
Shorter, shorter, crispy, short breathing as I slow down to just standing.
Swirling all around me is the sound of the wind as it brushes past my ears and disappears into the darkness.
Like a moving whirlpool of air, I am in the vortex . . . standing still . . . centered in my heart, pounding, waiting, louder pounding, waiting, and more waiting.
The wind, now roaring harder, picks up and pushes against me in my front chest. I turn my body and it hits me on the side — feeling my neck cold, exposing skin as the scarf I wear blows off and disappears into the darkness. Whoosh!
Is it the sound — my attention moving to my feet, I move a quarter-round again —only to be blown forward from the wind hitting my back this time . . . hunching my shoulders, and feeling the air move up my neck under my hair and into my hat.— no hat now, again . . . bracing myself, hunching and waiting, waiting, waiting . . . the next big blow . . .
Waking up, I find myself nestling under my covers, with my naked skin against my lover’s chest.
Relief breathing out a full breath. I open to his warmth and touch. We kiss. We breathe into each other’s openness, being the love and the heat we share. Open to the warm and moist touches all over my body, opening and softening. I feel the solid curve of his muscles, moving and touching me, the tips of his fingers exploring my inner worlds of love and aliveness. Melting into one with each other as we soar high in the safety and warmth and darkness of the night.
Oh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
“Dream Weaver” song lyrics by Gary Wright
As an artist, Sarah Horton is constantly inspired by the natural beauty that surrounds her in the ‘Lost Sierra’ Nevada Mountains and Lake Tahoe wilderness.
Her passion for photography has led her to capture stunning vistas and fresh mountain waters around the world, while her love for painting has allowed her to bring her own unique perspective and creativity to her large canvas work.
As a writer, she is able to dance in the gap between the intuitive right brain and the practicality of the left brain.
Sarah lives north of Lake Tahoe with her sweetheart, Christopher Burton, and her dog, Lady Lulu. Her decades of life experience culminate in the simplicity and joy of appreciating sacred time in silence and creativity.
She welcomes your visit to her literary artist blog and enjoy the visual art there as well.
