It’s time for stories and time to tell, dreams weird and wonderful, weaving in and out words, images and thoughts wafting slowly by.
It’s time, it’s time, holding fast as mind slides slowly into sleep and sleep to dreams.
Dreams spin and turn and threads cross over, so what seems straight forward jumps and jars, disjointed.
Track it back and you will find a thread of dream spun so fine, so silver glittery and gold, that it tags you into story and there you find… time.
It’s time, it’s time, as wind whips hard through trees and birds flail and huddle. Dogs quail and cats curl warm.
It’s time, it’s time, it’s time for stories. Come and tell with me.