When the Breeze Blew the Poppies

I had a busy day, running with time in the city.

Something was wrong with our office's management, and all we could do was work, floating along the waves created by their huge hands. My brows furrowed almost every single day without my command. Every night, I yearned for peace. For solitude. For an escape. Until that night came when I had to just sleep all the exhaustion away.

Four hours.

Six hours.

Eight.

I opened my eyes. Such a bright sky. Birds from afar were singing while clouds ambled over me, looking pure and fluffy as usual. I lifted my hand and traced one cloud with my finger. I formed a dolphin. I giggled.

Wait.

I flapped my arms, as if making a snow angel. I realized, I was lying, not in my bed, but in a meadow - cool, sweet-scented meadow. How did I get here?

I sat bolt upright, and looked around me. I was a dot in a huge space of meadow embellished with chamomile. That part from afar had colorful poppies sticking out, though.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

I was dumbfounded, awestruck for quite a long while. Not blinking. Unflinching at the peace that was welling in me. I just could not believe I was there. I looked up again to see the sky's splendor, and noticed the rays of the sun peeking out of a cloud.

That was holy and grand.

I lingered at this some more, mouth agape and rarely moving.

Then came the breeze.

And woke me up.