The twanging slide guitar of Jeff Buckley plays the haunting melody of the Lost Highway as I sit staring out of the window of my flat.
The sky is so deep and blue I feel if I threw a stone high enough I could make ripples in the skies.
No clouds slide from horizon to horizon. No contrails from aircraft exhausts slice across the skies. The only things that flies today is the birds. Sparrows flit from branch to branch teasing each other with proud songs no man will ever understand.
Flowers, of a blue that matches the skies, peek out from the carpet of grass and stare with wonder into the glare of the sun. Seeking it's warmth and it's life giving rays.
Insects fly with determination and purpose from flower to flower collecting pollen to take back to their nests to feed their young and continue the cycle of life.
Is this a dream?
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