Waking Dream

In my early morning’s waking dream, I found myself with my husband and son, driving together along a formless mountain pass of leaves and rocks, too close to the high cliffs’ uncertain edge. Like the fragility of a marriage on the verge of crumbling,
I warned him of the recent rains, the chance of slides, but he was deaf to my concerns, aloof, steering me closer to my end. As the front tire slipped over the edge the windshield broke and flew away with the wind like a bird pent up then finally released into the misty morning air. Soft green trees and dewy leaves lay like a blanket on the earth below me, beckoning my fall.
With no effort to stay, I inhaled and slipped through the path the windshield made, content to die, but hesitant to speak my last goodbyes, to my young son, innocent of the sometimes need to let go, to fall, to leave. As I fell, the wind, like a good friend, held me steady, sweeping away all but my purest thought, my love for my son; I landed in the embrace of the soft trees outstretched branches, knowing I lived, but I was not afraid to die.