The Happiness of Dreams Set Free
All through the summer, the milkweed dreamed her dreams. At first, they were just inklings, the faintest whispers of what might be. But they intrigued the milkweed and she found her attention drifting to them again and again.
She had much work to do. It was summer, after all. She had leaves to produce, height to attain, insects to battle.
But late at night, when the world had calmed and the moon drifted up above the eastern hills, she would think about her dreams, adding little details to them, watching them evolve.
Sometimes, when lightening streaked through the sky and the hard, pelting rains came, she had her moments of doubt. She would tremble in the wind, and question whether these tender possibilities could withstand the world’s storms. But when the skies cleared and the dawn painted the morning, she remembered that all living things go through their trials, and she would feed her dreams extra measures of courage and resiliency to give them added strength.
In July the drought hit. Day after day, the sun sucked the juices from her leaves. Even her deepest roots were hard pressed to pull moisture from the soil. She grew parched and weary. It was all she could do to go on. She wanted to weep, but she dared not waste her few precious resources on self-pity. Instead, she took solace in her dreams. And even though she had no idea how she could realize them, their beauty gave her comfort and the determination to press on and to hope.
August brought relief, its skies laden with soft clouds full of afternoon showers. The milkweed’s strength returned. She spent more time with her dreams now, especially in the cool hours of morning. She listened to the singing of the birds and instilled her dreams with their music. She watched the flowers of the field blossom and gave their best colors to her dreams.
And so the weeks went, and finally, it was late October and she knew that if her dreams were to fulfill their destinies, she had to find the daring to send them into the world. She had nurtured and shaped them as best she could. Now it was time to set them free, to let them fly and be real and take on lives of their own.
She waited until the sun was just about to burst over the horizon. Then, as the first rays of golden light touched her, she opened the door and watched as one by one, the dreams danced into the morning. “Fly!” she whispered, wishing them well. “Fly!”
And that night, she slept with a heart filled with joy. For her dreams had at last become real.
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