She woke in joy from pleasure-dream to a new-day hope in peace. Before her bedroom window view, naked branch of redbud showed still in winter-bare. She smiled in her heart looking forward to its spring.
Despite the winter season’s hold, room within was warm, and beginning into dress, she willed instead to stay in free, same as redbud’s branch, white of panties, like snow on ground, only cover that she wore.
Descending stairs in hold to woodrail’s guide, steps creaking soft beneath in her bearing of wight upon, she smiled on the stairwell’s turn, all window-view of light.
She moved in light through the turn, descending on to floor and level of the earth from roomed height of love and dreamings.
She smiled on the pillared light in pour through front door’s frame, its touching of her skin warming and glint-catch of winter freckles wanting still to show, a dream and dappled detail drawn from fine, fair winter skin.
For her, daylight as then was then that shone in truthed illume.
Her spirit rose. Her spirit warmed. She knew that it was love.
She continued on in morn and coffee’s make that would warm her further still.
She gazed on the vine in fall beside, mirthful at its verdure sign. She touched to a spread of leaf in hang, high turn of its face warm and waxy smooth.
Coffee made, she drank her fill as she rested on stool with gaze returned to the front door sun; its pillar of light deep reaching in seek and touch of her in heart of home.
All was dream.
All was real.
Anything could be. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and she believed—every detail of the Dream.