Enjoying a cool, August morning on the terraza under gray clouds and occasional sunshine, just enough to backlight what we see — floating just over there.
A flying dream.
We see them now and then, mornings, afternoons, early evenings. We don´t know what they are. But they are alive, usually. Sometimes it’s just fluff floating on the breeze.
Other times, they are alive but with tiny bodies so flimsy, so nearly nonexistent, they look like flying dreams.
They wing slowly by, and we wonder about their lives. Do they have homes, lovers or children? Perhaps they are inhabitants of some parallel plane that, for reasons unknown to us, quickly pass over to this side for a peek, a fly-by.
Then they head back, vanishing, curiosity satisfied.
Or perhaps the first guess is right. They’re flying dreams.