Daydreams fly in as if they played upon feathered wings.
My daydreams come as pleasant birdsong and artist's brush.
My daydreams come to bring a new and rosy glow to reality, to light a path to better ways.
Daydreams come as dawn to my day.
Daydreams come as a fresh palette to the ready brush.
In my daydream was at first a pure black canvas, yet it turned into a rich earth tunnel; far away in the distance was a green light. Every other time there had been none, yet now it was there, bright and clear.
The couch was a fabric the hue of buoyant sea waves and I sat there as prim as any sailing boat on a fine day. Upon those rolling cushions the birdsong became my lullaby. As each moment became the next sweet daydreams began from the joy of doing nothing, and then I was swimming with the rainbow fish of the deep, feeling the rhythm of a new body with fins.