You know those moments when you are not quite sure, are you dreaming? The field ahead of you dissolves into mist, snow swallowing every sound, and the ground beneath your feet feels both real and imagined.
The half-moon hangs above like a quiet witness, not asking anything. You sense you’ve stepped into a place that exists only while you’re passing through it. The World of Dreams.
We were there. When we descended into the valley formed by the rolling fields, we stepped straight into the mist. I felt the mist around me, even felt it as I breathed. The dry winter cold had turned damp, and we looked at everything through the gray veil of fog.
5yo said it first: “ Is this dream?” And indeed it was! We waded in the fog, we breathed it, we filled our lungs with it. And the split moon watched as if it had always known we would pass this way.
We trudged through the white snow. It was dry, powdered frost, like white, light sand — dream sand. The moon hung split in half. I began to wonder — maybe the moon itself is the source of the dream sand, and the Sandman has grated it here, scattering it over the world while we slept, while we wandered.
Then we suddenly felt a rush! The gates of the dream world were about to close, and we had to reach them before that happened. Mist curled around our ankles as we ran, the snow crunching under our feet, and the half-moon watched silently above, as if urging us onward.
Behind us remained silence, and our traces in the snow. The footprints led home. The blue hour began. The moon stayed.
The world of dreams remained folded into the edges of the mist and the frost, a quiet place that waited patiently for the next wanderer.
This post is part of the Enchanted Stories section. Let your coffee freeze over as you click it to enter more imaginative worlds!
Fantastic experience and fantastic pictures 💖💖💖
Beautifully written🙏