Colours

Today I should stay in bed, curled up in my blankets.

Maybe I finally dream with a sky full of clouds, but no dark o gray clouds those that could hiding the light, just round clouds made with soft colours, open in holes by ray of lights that make you see portions of sky.

Maybe dream with shining green hills, covered with a early dew, and on they a blanket, on it a good book with a feather marking what I already readed, sited hanging my knees together and my hearth startled for looking that sky that its only in my dreams, and then I could sense a low breeze that sing a old song, from a old time when the music usually calm, even the saddest hearths.

And then I could outlined the contours with a small brush, making new textures and forms, fill all with colours from a palette full of colours that I never used, and redefine my world, even for be the same, just to look like its was new.

But today it wasn’t that day, today I just wake up and leave my dreams stored in some place where I could go one day to colour it.