The planets are still, suspended in the dark as I sleep. And before waking I sense their odd shaped bodies. Not just rounded, but rectangular and pentagonal, lying in stillness, surrounding me. They are habitable. Some have a glint, like the reflection of water. Several moons have mysterious marking. Another holds human memories of youth. Father, mother, uncles and grandparents. Two have the first hint of life embedded in them. A water hole, primitive yet unmistakable. Behind my head is a little mud disc. It too, carries a pulse.
When I open my eyes I see my room as it has always been. The planets have flattened themselves on the walls and become two dimensional. The mirror, the three drums with animal hide, the aboriginal paintings, the family photos, and the little hummingbird nest with remains that I saved from a bush. Was it dream or imagination? Did the objects reveal themselves when I was receptive? I have no clue, only that I must write this down.
