I dreamed light spilled on wet railroad tracks, two moist eyes of light wide open. Bright. The dream had no soundtrack, no train whistle warning, no protest of steel wheels braking, like a child’s octaves-too-high scream playing hide-and-seek on a last day of autumn when hide-and-seek was still a game. A brightening of the light, a blackness and awake. There is a pain in being awake, to keep us from wanting to stay too long, and to ease our grip on the wrists of loved ones as we choose to let them go, slip, asleep. The most frightful dreams are shadowed by the waken world.

©2012 Jason Anderson