Illumined
by the eerie glow of a full moon, Michael’s breath rose up towards the forest
canopy. The cool, damp air left his skin feeling wet. Something brushed the
back of his neck, sending a chill through him that radiated to every nerve. He
quickly turned to the left and saw a crow fly up to a tall pine, to a sentry
position. Michael took a deep breath and started to walk on the path lit by the
moon. He couldn’t quite see the bright lunar disk behind the trees, but its
light broke through and guided him.
The bushes to his right rustled. He
stopped. A small figure ran ahead behind the trees.
“Wait! Who are you? Where am I?” Michael
started to run after the figure.
The only response was a giggle. He glimpsed
the silhouette of a little girl.
He ran to her. When he was nearly upon her,
he saw only her shadow. “Where are you?”
“Everywhere,” the small voice echoed from
all around him.
Michael was about to step on the elusive shadow
when it vanished. It didn’t move away. It was just gone.
Suddenly he didn’t feel very well. The
forest seemed to be reaching toward him. The crow started to caw raucously and
swooped down. Michael ducked and then started to run. He ran and ran, stumbling
on the uneven ground and gnarled roots as he went. There seemed to be no end to
the woods. His lungs soon burned with every breath he took. Where was he?
Just as he was about to give up, he found an
opening in the trees. He ran out of the forest with the crow still just behind
him. He kept running until he came to the edge of a cliff. Its sharp edge
abruptly fell away into darkness. He nearly lost his balance as he gazed down
into the blackness. He turned his head. The crow was still coming. It seemed
huge now, as if it had grown large enough to grab him. Michael looked back down
into the abyss. It felt like he should jump and at that moment he realized he
was in a dream.
He jumped.
As he fell and fell he wondered if he would
ever land. If he did, would he die in the waking world if he died here? Then
his arms started to tingle. They felt so light and as he lifted them he heard
the swoosh of feathers so he started to flap his arms. His fall slowed. His
arms were now wings. He pumped them and started to move upward. He was no
longer falling but flying.
With a few flaps of his wings he rose out
of the abyss and turned back towards the stand of ancient pines. From above they
looked peaceful, like silent Druids robed in silvery moonlight. He flew to the
highest tree and landed. The crow that was chasing him now circled above. He
flew up to it and then realized, just as he woke up, that he was a crow, too.
On his back in bed, Michael stared at the
ceiling. Though sweat ran down his temples, he smiled to himself. Switching on
a lamp, he eagerly sat up and grabbed his dream journal from the bedside table.
He finally had his first lucid dream – and what a dream it was.
For the first time in months he felt he was
coming back to life. Spending nearly six months nursing his dying father back
in Nova Scotia had taken a greater toll on him than he realized. When he moved
to California he had hoped he would feel like composing again. It had been
months since he moved and so far nothing. But now he felt something shift. Becoming
the crow in the dream and flying out of the darkness was a good sign. Maybe his
muse had returned.
