// w a n d e r e r s //

                                                                                                 

- 05/29/15 -

Daydreamers are misnamed. 

We are not primarily dreamers.  We are wanderers.

Just before sleep, sitting on a swing, in the smell of rain, in snatches of midday reverie that we reach out and capture amidst ordinary occupations, we wander the landscapes of our hearts and the corridors of our minds. 

Clouds are not merely clouds to us.  They are a host of living entities -- lifting our eyes, taking our hands, raising our souls -- pointing far above and beyond themselves to our home, to the place where our wandering will end, safe with our Savior, our Father, our Friend, Who knows what we dream and why. 

And stories -- stories are not lead or ink to the dreamer-wanderer.  They, as one story-spinner put it, are life. And they are music.  And the music is silvery and immortal -- the ballad of the dreamer on his or her solitary but placid road.  

I may not look it, but my soul is a wanderer.