from sky to ground

In her dreams, Yuki flew. She went over the Sangre de Cristo range, noting in passing the brilliant yellows of aspen mixed with dark shadowed green of pines on the steep cliffs. Over the ocean, its waves a steady blue solid, a comforting geometry rather than a terrifying unknown, breathing force. Past the shores and empty rice fields to her home in the Japanese hills.

She never landed, never tried to land there, as if she knew that once she put her foot to the ground it would grow thick roots, faster than the bamboo she barely remembered, stronger than the cotton woods that clogged the irrigation ditches around the farm. And her foot would sink into the comfort of the ground, slaking its thirst. But she would not move again.

And she wanted to move, to breathe, to live a little longer. Most of all, she wanted not to die yet. Soon. Soon, she told the spirits of the ancestor's shrine as she flew around them, stroking the grey stone heads, tidying up the red aprons that had long since faded to nubbling beige. Soon. But not yet.

It was strange though. No matter how long it took her to fly over the ocean in her dreams, no matter how long she stayed in the thick forest hills of her home, she arrived instantly back in her back bedroom. Here the sun peered in over the too-tall Colorado foothills and the glare of the macintosh computer Amy had set up was a constant flickering of connection.

snow falls / thick in / urgent flurries / an individual only / from sky to ground / crystal edges / melt to / murky puddles

the word is / the sound / of water / dripping from/ ancient symbols / tiny particles / of merging / realities