Ah, the ‘ole, “soaring over the city” dream. It was probably third grade (that was a good year) and I dreampt a glorious dream. I walked out to the kitchen and sitting on the counter, was a cup full of thick, purple liquid. I think that this came from a book I had read and my dream followed the same plot. Weird. I digress, I drank the liquid and had the sudden impulse to run down the hallway and out the front door. I’m seven years old. I remember flailing my arms and a gush of wind carried me gusty hands towards the heavens. Flash to first person and I’m soaring over the ocean, farmlands, cities, but it all seems mechanical. Like I’m not really the one in control. I descended and the clearest part of the dream was me, floating on my belly arms outstretched, flying over city streets just four feet above the asphalt. The exuberance of nobody being around, and controlling which streets I could turn down… I remember waving my spine like a New Years Dragon up and down for a more circulated movement. I love circulation. I also love independent directional transportation. Horses and Cars get me giddy. Flying is unreal, and provides for the finest of dreams. I’m going to bed early tonight.