There are those rare dreams that stir delight within you. You know, the ones that you inopportunely wake up halfway through, but you pinch your eyes together with unearthly adamancy, trying desperately to transport yourself once again to the heart of your mind. “I was never awake, anyway. What tomfoolery is this?” you tell yourself, and you beg and you plead with the controller of your dreams to take you back to that special place. And sometimes, on very extraordinary occasions, you pick your way through the rubble of half-awake-half-asleep, and find without any map the dream that you so abruptly deserted. Now you are back.

I had a dream like that last night. It was the dream, so banal to the listener, yet so bona fide to the dreamer: a flying dream. I can say no more, for fear that words will defile my lovely delusion.