During the day, I walk my imagination on a leash. Sometimes I let it range out ahead. It wags its tail and darts from scent to scent, sometimes pausing if something shiny catches its attention. When a car comes I shorten up and force my imagination to heel.

But at night, after I close my eyes, it escapes. Unleashed, my imagination runs wild, through a strangely familiar landscape, forms and time fluid and everchanging. I chase it to places I have never been to before again. Peopled by strangers I know well, and those familiar friends and sometimes enemies whom I have never met engaging in conversations we have had, off and on, for years.

They are by turns, perfectly normal, inappropriately seductive, intractably combative. They speak nonsense riddles with a clarity I find astounding and profound.

Pets long dead, now young and frisky, affectionately lick my hand. I search for something I never had yet inexplicably have lost.

All night I run, chasing my imagination through this serene and wicked landscape. In the morning I am released. I awaken blurry and tired. I must sit quietly for a moment, sipping my tea, forgetting my dreams and remembering today.

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