Good morning fairy mother queens. My sister, you thought I was awake but I was, indeed, slightly dreaming, sight-dancing until the crash, the boom boom list of tasks fell through the open screen and I tripped over the watercolor grey. I swear, I promised the awe child we’d go painting today.
Door shut. I’m running through dusk. There’s a dove flying through windows while you swing magic across the decade fields. No, no, it’s not a dove, just silly me blinded by giggling glee. You thought I was awake, but I was still night-seeing, slightly dreaming, see.
Good morning fairy mother queens, what time is it?
“Oh it’s north by northwest and we’re collecting soul dust from the eastern seas. See how the road is sparkling and the fairy glitter is dancing and the speedometer threw the map through the open roof where it burned in the fire-light above?”
No, no! I was going to fold that map into a fairy mother crown, pretend I belonged prancing in the royal marching sound. Though admittedly, now I’m racing, foot scraping the road’s spine, and I’m relieved the map is no longer yelling nonsense rhymes, screaming surely yet consistently changing his mind.
I’m running through the shivering dusk, stillness isn’t for ten years or so, so I’m waltzing through decade fields while you swing near the magic yields.
If I’m being honest, my sister, I’m awake and a little dizzy now and I’m wondering if I lost my sundial in the catnip haze.
What time is it?
It’s ok, I measure the hour by adventures anyways.
Photograph by Andressa Voltolini