1 May 2013
Her nights have been restless; dark shapes clouding her blue sky dreams. Synapses that fire at such a speed struggle to file away all their days work without some fall out. Her calls through the thick ink of night snap me to attention and without recollection of space or time I am tangled in her damp hair. Wrapped in my arms I feel my baby bird's heart return to its natural rhythm. Her breath graces my neck and her body softens. Sleep beckons her once more and I gently return to my own bed clutching at my chest; her warmth still there.
Gathered treasures and gentle conversation ignited plans and projects. Before my very eyes I saw the workings of her mind in all their lightening fast and effervescent nature. I was reassured that these dreams will not haunt her for long; they are merely a product of her time now, a brain leaping ahead whilst its accompanying body lags behind out of breath from the exertion of thinking. She is all imagination and inventiveness and life. A dream catcher was created.
With driftwood and shells and cobalt blue. Wispy feathers to trickle thoughts of glass jarred lolly shops and mermaids' tales down into her slumber. Wooden beads, seed pods and twine. Cups of milky chai and threading. The only way I know how to soothe her fears. To tread slowly with her, to make new dreams, to create.