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No, I didn’t turn into a bird. Quite literally, I soared through the air, alighting on tall buildings, gracefully manoeuvering my way through the aircraft and the clouds, navigating in a beautiful, blue sky, as I looked at the Earth far, far below.
For a very long time, I wondered what this dream really meant. Did it imply that I was achieving my dreams only through my slumbering existence? Did it mean that I could soar, on an on, and never really get anywhere?
After a point, I realised something. It doesn’t matter. For, after all, a dream can mean so many things.
It can mean that you sometimes enjoy the dream for itself. The beauty that it holds, the amazement that flight can bring and the happiness that exploration can offer.
This also brought to mind one of my all-time favourite books, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, by Richard Bach. If you are a first-time reader, if you are an avid reader, if you have even just looked at a book on a library shelf, this book is for you. Pick it up, read it and you will never regret it.
- But the speed was power, and the speed was joy, and the speed was pure beauty.
As long as your wings aren’t clipped, you can fly anywhere you choose.
I hope that my daughter will have a similar dream, even if it doesn’t involve flight.
A story for every picture, a picture for every story
The picture above was clicked from our home, as the birds flew overhead in the evening sun
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