The Dream

I’m standing at the top of a green, grass covered hill. The sky above is cobalt blue and the air is as still and windless as a vacuum. It’s bright but no sun sits in the cloudless sky and the light casts no shadows. The grass beneath my bare toes feels like soft carpet.

Stretching off into the horizon I can see a plain of similar grassy green hills. Far out in the middle, atop a hill much larger than the others, stands a single oak tree.

I look down at my bare feet and see in front of me a large rectangular sheet of paper. I kneel down on the soft grass and begin to fold it, the top two corners inwards first, then over again. I fold each half down the middle, away from each other to make the shape of a paper aeroplane, just like the ones I’d make in school.

With each fold the aeroplane grows bigger and bigger so by the time I finish the final fold and pick up the plane I’m dwarfed beneath it. I hold it above my head with one hand. It feels weightless. Like a javelin thrower I begin to run, then I launch the paper plane with all my might into the horizon. Instead of fading right or left, or bombing straight down, it flies straight and true, soaring above the green hills ahead. It passes over the mighty oak tree and flies far off into the horizon, until eventually it disappears.



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