wooden panes of the windows I thought, ‘how funny, these
windows don’t open, no breeze ever comes through these
windows.’

Not only were they open, but they had transformed into
French doors, and there was a lovely, inviting sill
outside. As I looked to my left, and reached out, I felt
him take my hand and we stepped into the moonlit sky. I
never really saw him, but I knew who he was. I was flying
over my little beach town with my teacher. The wind was
blowing my gown, its purple satin layers and folds blew in
the night. Below, the houses and streets stood silent,
their patterns of rows and rectangles gave order to the
night. I was flying, Superman style, down to the Pacific
Ocean, then back up the hills of the town. We gained
 
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Awake In The Dream copyright 1999 Lynne Miller