There is a city that hides underneath the ocean,
where the houses are covered in seaweed, shells and barnacles.
Fishing nets are draped in front of windows like curtains,
catching pearls within its nets.
The mermaids who live there,
sleep under covers made of the finest sea silk.
Their dreams float on the current as it purges and withdraws
to the rhythm of the moon, to the music of the sparkling star light,
and the gentle song of their siren sisters.
One such dream was so extraordinary and full of life,
that when it reached the shore,
instead of wiggling itself into the sand and dying there like dreams usually do,
this dream did not.
It lay down on the sand and stayed alive.
The dream dried itself under the moon light and when the first rays of sun reached the morning,
it got up and started to walk.
First it walked over the sand dunes, its toes felt soft and tingly in the fine sand.
Then it reached a pine forest, the smell of the trees was strong and sweet.
After some moments and a bit, it reached a small, sleepy village.
The houses were much the same as where the mermaids live and dream,
so the dream felt much at home.
It walked into one of the gardens,
a very beautiful one,
with yellow roses resting over an arched gate,
their soft petals like velvet in the morning sun.
A blue door was ajar which led into a hallway and then to a kitchen.
When the dream walked into the kitchen,
it saw a woman boiling water in a pot over a fire.
She was not old, but she was not young either.
She had silver hair that was tied up into a bun,
but half of it had fallen out into loose locks resting on the woman’s back and shoulders.
She wore a dark brown skirt that fell down heavy only exposing her bare feet.
A little song came from her, which she sung in a deep, chocolaty voice,
for no one to hear but herself and the pot of water.
The dream sat down at a table by the window,
it had a vase of flowers in it, which must have been picked only a little while ago,
they looked so fresh and alive, and their smell was deliciously fragrant.
When the water in the pot boiled,
the woman with the silver hair sunk bunches of leaves and berries into it,
that were tied together with some string.
She stirred it all into a swirl, still singing her song.
The dream, seated silently at the table, looked at her with curiosity,
when she left her kitchen with an empty basket.
Her steps could be heard in the room next door.
When she came back into the kitchen,
the basket was filled with cloths.
Piece by piece,
she gently immersed the cloths into the boiling water,
pushing them down with a big wooden spoon.
This dipping and stirring continued for a while;
a bird flew into the kitchen and out again.
Spots of light danced into the window, over the floor,
kissing the woman’s feet,
jumping up over her heavy skirt,
onto her hair, her face, over the walls and away again it went.
All of this was so unfamiliar and peculiar to the dream,
it was no longer certain if it wasn’t dreaming itself!
Then the woman lifted the heavy pot off of the fire and took it into the garden,
where the dream followed her.
She spooned out the pieces of soaking cloths,
which had taken on beautiful colors of blue and green.
She hung them to dry over a line,
where the remaining water dripped down onto the warm stones on the ground.
After all the cloths were hung,
the woman went back into her house,
but the dream remained outside, mesmerized by the dripping of the water,
the drying of the cloth.
Never had the dream seen water disappear like that.
It had always only ever lived in the ocean.
When all the dripping and dropping was done,
and the cloths were as dry as bone,
the woman returned and collected the cloths in her basket.
With the basket full of colored cloths,
she walked back into the house, the dream following her closely.
She went upstairs, her skirt moved heavy whilst she climbed up the steps.
In the room there, by a small window, stood a table and a sewing machine.
She sat down behind it, taking out the cloths, arranging them,
putting them together with pins.
She then sew and sew with a rapid precision and determination.
Only some brief moments later when she held her creation up in front of her,
the dream noticed she had made a beautiful night dress,
in shades of blue and green like the ocean.
The sun started to sink behind the trees,
and a pale moon rose high in the sky.
The woman peeled off her day dress and stepped into her new night gown.
She washed her face and untied her hair,
then climbed into bed where she fell into a deep sleep.
The dream got tired too and lay down beside her,
embracing her with its long curly arms.
When the night was in the middle of itself,
the dream awoke and started to curl into the woman’s hair,
through her skin and finally found its way into her sleep.
There the dream took her away,
down the steps, out of the door, and into the garden.
Underneath the yellow rose they went,
through the pine forest,
over the sandy dunes and finally they arrived at the beach.
So beautiful it was to stand by the ocean at night,
the sleeping woman thought, and she started to sing.
Her song was soft and delicate,
yet it had such piercing strength that the mermaids who slept under the water there,
Do you hear that beautiful, strange song? They said to each other
It must be one of ours sisters calling.
They swam to the surface to find the sleeping woman singing by the breakers.
She looked so beautiful in her blue green nightgown light on the breeze,
her silver hair in long locks clutching her wet sleepy face,
the mermaids knew for certain she was one of them,
and came swimming towards her.
So sleepy the woman was,
she did not notice it when the mermaids took her hand,
pulled her down into the water, below the waves.
When she was put to bed under a sheet of sea silk,
she sighed and turned a little, but soon returned to her deep sleep.
And when she awoke the next morning,
the green ocean light shining through the fishing nets,
she remembered dreaming of a home on dry land.
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