The Blue Dream


vincent-van-gogh-wheat-fields-at-auvers-under-a-clouded-sky

The ringing in his ears shook him from his dream.

It was a blue dream. A blue woman sitting by a blue stream with blue eyes and blue breath in the cold blue air. Upon waking he remembered the blue. The searing blue pain every time she spoke. Her blue words cleaving through his mind. She didn’t communicate in the usual sense but directly into his soul.

Blue pain.

He opened his eyes and fumbled around for his black phone. The bright yellow sunlight was streaming through the window, its rays highlighting the gold dust floating around him. The shrill, crimson sound of the phone dared to be silenced.

He moved and the yellow dust parted. His arm passed through the rays, temporarily cutting them and the dust disappeared to reappear again.

He silenced the sharp red ringing and the ensuing voice was a calming green of leaves in summer and wheat blowing in the breeze. The blue dream was banished from his mind and the voice spoke of autumnal rust and honey-coloured love. A love so rich and deep that it was all around him, its colour bathing him in a warm glow.

 

 

Copyright. 2013 One Man and his Blog

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