When Alice happened upon the feel of the moonlight, she noticed that it was shadowed over its filmy wake with a fanciful tingling of Roses. They were all bobbing and curtsying beautifully, in twas, tris, and glories of every shape.
Here and there, graceful fantasies were faded in attraction to one, beautified above the others, not in a gown, or on a color, but on the thorns of her own stem, gathered for the event.
The moonlight, right above, gallivanted up the air and the peak of the stars, by cascading from the moon, nearly to the vale of the fairies, vast dandified streams, lovely with all the gleams of a glass eye.
If fantasy was real, perhaps I’d feel more alive. Perhaps when fantasy is real, that’s when I feel the most alive.
If I could place a rainbow upon the tongue, what would I taste? If I could breathe it in, what would the scent be? If I could hold it even for a moment in the palm of my hand, what would I feel?
Let my imagination come alive.
A taste as fresh and tangy as strawberries—that is red
The glory of a sunset seeping into your soul—that is orange in amber splendor.
The silky sheen of a buttercup smiling up at you from its nest among the grass, each petal as shiny as glass—that is yellow.
The smell of fresh cut lawn—that is the freshest of greens.
The deep blue of the water between the Orkney Islands, with your face in the brisk, briny wind, anything and everything is possible—Blue.
The deep sound of a cello harmonizing perfectly with the fiddle skirting up the E string. The cello breathes out notes as deep as purple, the fiddle changing hues as it dances around as freely as a fairy.
Rainbows are nearly impossible to catch—but not quite.
I’ve dreamed, often in moonlight.
I sat upon a cold rock by the lakeshore, all by myself. I watched the moonlight dance with the tips of the waves and tumble the pebbles over and over and over and over… I let my thoughts tumble too.
The moonlight was blue, or perhaps silver. In that light, dreams drift.
I drifted out into the center of the lake until I could not see the shore anymore, and I knew I was utterly lost and yet exactly where I was supposed to be. I was in the heart of fantasy, the moonlight turning my hair silver.
I’ve felt the tingling of roses, there’s a rose growing inside of me, and one day it will bloom. That is the Spirit in me, this utter beauty He is creating in my heart.