The seeds of a dream fall to their death as quickly as they bloom within the imagination. Burrowing down deep within the soil on the narrow road of our souls to be nurtured in the darkroom of life. Developing in hiddenness, awaiting the encounter of breaking dawn.

 

Some dreams are birthed within days, others take months and some need years and years. Standing at the threshold of a vintage dream offers scapes of surreality; the collision of things hoped for and a heart entrenched in hope deferred. A fulfilled longing is indeed the tree of life, branches filled with fruit one couldn’t have imagined. It’s an exaggerated fulfillment as if it were bought and transplanted in a showy fashion.

 

Some dreams grow up to be pushy and demanding, aching for action. “Yes”, seems to be the only mustered verbiage standing here surveying the land. overwhelmed by the goodness of God, he’s not left a single detail out.  The heart is flooding with great joy, awe, and deep wonder. 

This dream has been tucked away, awaiting the right day, the right people, and a readied land.