dreams

It’s amazing how your unconscious mind can paint such vivid pictures.  In sleep, they’re called dreams.  Last night, my mind painted a picture and I was fortunate enough to remember what it looked like this morning.  I remember what I saw, what I felt and I remember being moved.

I saw a little boy with his hand outstretched, in his grip was a wilted flower.  The stem, half-crushed, held three withered petals.  I saw the boy’s eyes, full of uncertainty, wondering if his gift would be enough.

I felt the pure, unconditional love of a mother as she accepted the gift.  I felt her joy as she looked upon the mangled flower as if it were a perfect rose in full bloom.  I felt the relief of the little boy as he saw her lips curve into the warmest smile.

I was moved by the mother’s complete and unconditional acceptance and how it made the little boy feel safe and secure.

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