Field of Dreams

In my sleep, I see
fields of dreams
filled with flowers and trees,
little bees and cats as tall as me.

In my world, the owl sings
a silly song
and the fish swim through air on wings
unbeknownst to any man
but me.

In my dreams, there is no such thing
as money and loans and rent.
You sleep in the field
beside the lilac and the lavender
and to the right of the lilies and the lantana.

In my head, there are no walls
to push down or pull around.
It is a field of neverending flowers,
blossoming in hope and in happiness.
They are not human flowers.
They are the flowers that fill
my field of dreams.

In my meadow, hedgehogs walk on two legs
and birds can speak.
The creatures of the forest gather in the field every night
to watch the stars as they burn
so many skies away.

In my field, there is peace.
There is no war, there is no hate.
There are trees and silly smiles and parties for no reason
other than we could.
The flowers are pillows for bees,
the limbs of trees branch out for passerines,
and the lake beside the meadow reflects the night
as liquid starlight.

In the morning, the sun will come
and I must awake.
When the dawn rolls around,
I am in a different world.
It’s not as vivid or exciting,
but I can always wait for the sun to go down
to see my field of dreams.

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Poem and photography by Hazel J. Hall
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