In December, I Had a Reverie

In December,

I had a reverie.

In this reverie,

I resided in a wooden house

That creaked with each footstep.

It was gloomy within this home.

In this reverie,

I rested in a wooden chair

That held my back up straight

In this dreary home.

In this reverie,

I gazed out the window

While blue light filtered in

And poured into the home

with even further gloom.

In this reverie,

Outside the window

I saw mists hover low

And an ice-cold lake

With cloudy skies.

In this reverie,

The ice-cold lake was separated into two parts.

But the window only revealed one passage to my eyes

While a well-designed ship slid along the lake.

In this reverie,

Rain splatted onto the window

While the murky-cold air printed itself onto the glass

And the ice-cold lake rose up as if it was full

And entered my dreary and blue-filtered home.

In this reverie,

A woman stood to my left

And a man stayed to my right.

Both talked with worried expressions

And with tones brimmed with curiosity

And with cries clear of uncertainty.

In this reverie,

The man spoke of the distance between

Us and another surface of the lake

While the woman talked of the time

And how long it could take.

In this reverie,

They prepared the boat for sailing.

The man and the woman disappeared

And they sailed to the other surface

Forest being their new home.

In this reverie,

I waited for the water to fill my wooden home

For the fogs to drift lower in the skies

And for the skies to dim even further so

And for the flood to immerse me.

In this reverie,

I saw why the distance mattered to others

And why time had never troubled most other humans.

I saw why distance never affected me

But why time had ever troubled me.

In December,

I had a reverie.