3. Mural
There are times - in my dreams - when I am inside the mural, that same mural that my father painted. These moments, I am floating. Eternal blue is high above me, and there is green and lilac on every side. I look down upon the domed roofs of the city, and there is a warm breeze - a clear smell in the air. The land around me is whole again as the light gleams pearly bright from every ceiling.
A voice comes from the depths of sleep. The dark eyed man who used to live on the edge of town, who showed me how to gather pigments of yellow, green and blue, and how even the dullest rocks and vegetation can yield a rainbow of vibrant colours. This is the call, the deep clear voice that speaks my name.
Then I think of the light reflecting from Alandi's hair. It is real in my dreams as if she were truly standing at my side. Her hair is long enough to reach her waist, and ever strand is a deep, gleaming brown. "Follow me," she insists - a new and welcome voice from somewhere just beyond my reach. And she laughs.
"Hurry! Follow me."
There are two of us, both tall, strong, long-limbed - nimble enough to climb over every part of this city on the wall. Alandi laughs, and I let her laughter fill my senses until it is the only sound that I can hear. We are poets together, healers, spinners of dreams. And for one more night it is just as my father must have said it would be. For just one more night, our world is whole.