What happens to the prophecies spoken in sleep?

“I’ve never questioned the direction of the clouds before today,” he said hazily to the half light of sleep. “But then again I’ve never searched the sheep for wolves in drag.”

Only the walls knew how many questions the man had asked over the years, and only the sheets knew how many answers he remembered.

Another question for another day, sighed the darkness as it crumpled the dream and tossed it aside.

“Perhaps a writing desk is more like a raven than we would like to admit.”

The walls marked another tally.

“I’ll never eat the earth whole again. Not without something to drink first.”

The windows rattled in agreement.

“Would a dream recognize color in the daylight? I think I’ll remember that.”

The night only shook its head in cunning disbelief as the man shifted his head and cleared his throat once more.

(dtn)

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