Dreaming

I endeavoured to record the ethereal colours and words into a sketchbook that I kept beside my bed. Alas, within seconds of my awakening my mind was incapable of recalling the slightest image of what only moments before had exploded with wonderous colours screaming through my dream. Atmospheric senses of dreamed spinning colours all ways into starless infinity, these influences faded into the new morning like ephemeral mist, memories melting quicker than snow in June.