I don't sleep anymore. But when I do;

I was wearing glasses and a beige buttoned and belted shirt dress, the kind you only wear when you want to be some sort of outdoor bandit with a feminine mystique. I made my way through the meadow. I reached the tall grass. There was a defined path, the reeds shot down to the ground for unknown purposes. I set up my camera on the tripod. I set the timer. I ran as fast as I could with my arms stretched above the height of the grass. I may have gotten my dress in the multiple shots, maybe just my hands. The trees were giving birth to fruit. It was all underneath them, it was all over them. My feet were bare but the meadow ground was soft like feathers or, rather, went unfelt entirely. There were tree houses beyond but they were unfamiliar territory. I would not leave the outskirts of the wheat field. I ran back down the path, I disassembled my camera and my tripod. I sat underneath the tree. I ate a piece of fruit, and I woke up.