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Joshua Turning 7 a day with 12 friends By Carol Schultz Book Preview





Some nights my waking dreams find me.

I dream of them outside my room, begging for their image. They haunt me until I find them and satisfy their need to be. I can't see them or define them, but I know them clearly. Out the door, they spin into a misty lilt of shadow and light...and blue. Languid ribbons of film - sweet dance, forever yearn. Flirt, then hide. Only sometimes they let me in. Elusive fog. So still and dance.

Some are just stunning and I don't stop. I keep snapping so to calm their giddy joy at being found - the capture. The one that bears remembrance of that moment the way I felt it in my mind. A memory of such lush velvet and crushing depth that real life can't be. Real life fades fast, you see.

Others are untethered by charm's burden. Misfits of an era. The forgotten, battered, left behind. Once precious, now discarded. Measured by the weathering abuse that is life, beauty is a bother that bears no fruit. Fallen from meaning, left to rot. The capture renders a truthful loveliness. I wonder do they know.

And they who feel no second glance for the sake of all eyes upon. Their soothing quality transcends the need to impress. Spirals of soft sable. Oh the tales they could tell of gaudy flamboyance! Or is it only my imagining? No mind. They draw me in so they mustn't fade. They are my balm. In my dreams they never want for more.

I guess that's why I do this.