The rain is falling softly upon the road. It marks its landing with an easy-to-trace speckle pattern. It has no rush, no haste. I sit, connecting the dots and letting an image appear. It evolves, growing before my eyes as if emerging from the ground. I look for an endpoint; I want to know what will arise; I seek as only a human does, looking for answers and logic in everything. I want to know. Eventually, the road surface is ultimately lost. The droplets have gathered, grown together, and merged into one being.
A bird is enjoying this. It is talking, conversing with no one in particular. Then randomly breaks out into song, improvising, pulling rhythms and notes from afar, and roping them into its sonic tapestry. This meter is perfectly timed with the rain pattern on the road's surface, with life itself.
The bird took this all in, moment by moment. While I was looking for the outcome, the bird held each point as an individual moment.
Now, the bird was utterly content, cleaning itself at the birdbath, having just serenaded the rain.
"Excuse me, bird," I said, hoping to obtain answers.
Last night, or was it the night before? No matter, I dreamt about the power of touch. Wordless exchanges to see the truth of one's desire and emotions. In this dream, was it last night or the night before? Does it matter? No matter, I could feel peoples' hearts, inner workings, wishes, and needs. This was accomplished by holding their hand."
I waited for some time, standing in the gentle spring rain. I wasn't in a rush, though I was curious. It continued to splash around, paying me little mind; randomly, it would cock its head at me and then go back to cleaning its feathers. I continued...
"Last night, or was it the night before? No matter, I dreamt of ____________. We decided to meet for coffee. It had been years since we were together. Was it last night I dreamt this, or the night before? Really, does it matter, bird? No, it doesn't. I ordered tea, and she had black coffee. It was strong coffee; I could tell by her expression with each sip. I didn't understand why she didn't put milk and sugar in it. But she wouldn't; she refused. Of course, she didn't say this, but I could tell. Then I awoke."
For a long time, the bird looked at me from the birdbath. We studied one another. Finally, it hopped up onto the bath's rim and took flight. It swooped down low and then arched upward directly in front of me. I was not frightened. As it passed, its tailfeathers gently grazing the center of my forehead.
Then I awoke again in my bed to birds chirping beyond my window, convinced this dream had occurred last night.