The wind ripples over the tall grass, creating waves that undulate over the earth. Wheat and lemon and lavender and mint and cream and moss, that lean with the breeze.
I am standing on a hill overlooking the sea of grasses. I spread my arms and let the wind stream through my long, dark tresses.
I look to the skyline and see the sun; an orb of red and violet and wine and rose and magenta fire. It glows magnificently, staining the grass with even more colours.
Swarms of tiny birds soar high above my head, falling and rising with the wind, like a cloud of pure white leaves. They make no sound, but still dance to the same senseless music that I can hear.
Tears swell in my eyes, and as I blink, they fall and fly towards the horizon at my back. The watery pearls shine with teal and glass and milk and coral and sky.
I bring my hands together against the wind, clasping them before me. I lean against the cutting gales now, feel them hold me up.
I close my eyes.
I don’t stand anymore; my feet no longer touch the hill borne on an ocean of grass. I let the swirling air carry me, buoying me up in arms of luminescence and glow and light and breath and nothingness.
I can still feel the world and all of its colours. I can still see the limitless, infinite universe of shades and textures through the darkness of my eyelids. I can still hear the musical emptiness of all that exists around me.
It’s like a dream, but I know it is not; I can see and hear too much for it to be real, and it is not real, but it is and has to be. What else but the mind could create a place like this?
The wind, the grass, the hill, the sky, the sun, the birds, the tears, the world, the self.
What could be more real to me but what I can see and what I can hear?