Dream Seven

I was a passenger in Rama’s red Porsche. The windows
were open and Rama commanded the car gracefully around long
round desert turns. A dry desert wind blew through my
hair. We were alone, playing in the desert in friendship
and in love. Rama was at ease, and I knew the relaxation
of the moment was rare.

No words were exchanged, no telepathic thoughts, no
magical transmissions of energy. We were just two beings,
together in human form, enjoying a drive in the desert.

We traveled silently and happily through the heat. An
old wooden framed store popped into our view. I found