Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I’ve been dreaming in green.
    It happens just before I travel:

    Trees, tall, leafed out in full summer dress
    Are moving around, glissading across the deep forest floor,
    Singing sense and talking time
    As I walk among them.
    Nothing much happens in this dream
    Other than this movement and this sound.
    It’s just me and the trees.

    But that was last night.

    This morning I’m on a blue blue airplane
    Far above the white clouds, above the dark mountains
    And I’m preparing for meetings in San Francisco

    Or at least I’m trying to--

    The man next to me is a distraction.
    He’s dreaming
    As he leans into my seat.
    I can tell--he’s twitching just a bit.

    I wonder if he is dreaming in green.

    I hope so, for him, but I don’t know.
    He doesn’t look the type who’d dream in green.

    In fact I can’t help thinking
    --And I know this says something not so nice about me--
    But I can’t help thinking
    From the sleek looks of him—
    His crisp pink shirt, aviator sunglasses worn even here,
    Heavy, shiny watch
    Fat ring around a manicured finger--
    That he’s dreaming in gold.
    Or silver.

    But what do I know?
    It’s unseemly to watch a stranger sleep.
    He looks so vulnerable.
    I’m crossing some kind of line even wondering
    About his dreams.

    And anyway, he’s probably dreaming of being a kid
    Playing on the beach
    Or running from danger
    Or of a simpler life
    Or of trouble at work
    Or of a lovely island
    Or of swimming in blue blue water.

    Perhaps he doesn’t need
    To dream in green at all.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.