The prompt for this one was 'What I dream.' I dream of having a family that loves me.

DREAMS

The house is all wood. In every room wide windows open in welcome, invite the outdoors inside. It’s always spring or summer and there are no mosquitoes. The oak floors glow as if lighted from within, but it’s more likely they are burnished by all the bare feet that glide across them.

This house, like the others around it, has many rooms and although each room has a door, they are seldom closed. Striding down the expansive hall I peer in at the furnishings, taking pictures with my mind. A brass bed here with a white crocheted cover, a salmon-pink piano shawl tossed over the intricacy of the shined footboard. A mahogany sleigh bed further down, its matching dresser with the beveled mirror on the wall next to the window. A white runner embroidered with tiny blue flowers covers the dresser top and hangs down on either side. A silver mirror and brush lie askew having just been used. There are long red hairs in the bristles.

A deep window seat in the living room, its thick cushion and plump pillows all covered in a large floral printed cotton fabric, beckons to passing readers. It’s already taken. A young girl, her legs tucked up beneath her, twiddles her blonde hair as she reads. Her book is thick, I can’t see the title. But it must be good, she is too engrossed to answer my wave.

The French doors are open and past the redwood deck broad steps lead down to the meadow. I see my friends out there, the people I call my family. Women, men, children who call me family too, though there’s no blood tie.

There’s an impromptu game of catch going on. Tents and tables at the edge of the meadow provide shade and food and company. I can smell the chicken grilling on the barbeques and hear the clink of ice when someone fishes a soda or beer out of the ice filled washtubs. The beach is past the tents, a sliver of the green river just visible beyond the trees. There are smiles and laughter on the wind.

One black haired woman is sobbing by a yellow kayak on the beach, but its okay, friends are around her. A teenage boy gently rubs her back. The mother of the girl in the window seat is crouched down holding her hand. A fat man stands by her shoulder speaking quietly to her, touching her arm now and then.

I nod at them all and walk on to the waters edge, knowing the dark haired woman’s needs are being met. I’ll take a swim, fill a plate, drink some wine, play some catch. Maybe later it will be me sobbing, or a wounded child that I will hold.

It’s why we meet here in our dreams– we orphans of the other, real world. We help each other through.