Dream big - draw big

Greetings,

This is the day of my dreams: The color of a hammer on brick. A trumpet, cement smoothing tool, dance.

A bike. Free wind pushing a child. A clean clear air song. High grey clouds.

Process becoming: Butterflies: yellow, white, brown, black, orange speckled. 

Closing down the connections. Absolving thieves their mysteries. Selling toys.

I am the Rocket Tourist at 20% operating capacity. 

The Marxist tools of production: knife, hoe, axe, elephant control stick, scythe, hammer.

Her daughter's card was the Master. Her card was Intensity. His card was the Rebel. After a dinner of grilled salmon, green salad, black olives, and fresh hot bread in Bursa they went to a cafe high above the smell and music of a river.

The river flowed strong and fast from Green Mountain. Dancing with stars was a silver-white crescent moon. They listened to water as the river cried. It was cold (May) and she wrapped his long soft leather jacket around her shoulders. She was happy.

Her daughter sat across from them drawing in this book (filled with transformations and great powerful understanding. Waves) and drinking hot chocolate. She was happy. Although now, only 8 and a strong willed child, she was a guest performer musician (piano) and character actor. She looked at them and said, Being correct is never the point.

Please put the blue sky on the white table. Unfold it gently. It is fragile and may be slightly creased along the horizon.  

Am I a clown searching along the ground for an appropriate mask?

Am I this or am I dreaming? 

Metta.