winter

the well is flowing over, surging, bubbling, and it runs down the hill in all directions, soaking the grass, creating rivulets of mud. and it rains, it rains and rains. the dry earth at first turns it away but eventually sucks it up, suddenly hungry, ravenous for the wetness. and she slogs through it, in big red rain boots, walking up hill through soggy leaves, over wet pavement, and under dripping branches. she gets to the door, she knocks, and they open it. warm yellow light rushes out and embraces her, and she leaves all the wetness at the entrance - boots, coat, hat... 

inside they are playing games and ask her to sit and she hides in a corner, then paces the halls, then explores upstairs and finds rooms filled with fabric scraps and stuffed animals, in piles, aimless piles, and pillows and blankets and rugs, not folded or rolled, just strewn everywhere. she burrows into them, through them, it is dark and soft and warm, she keeps burrowing, and never hits a wall.

the room was not this large. it is dark, and still. she wears herself out in the process and it is still dark and still. she drifts into sleep, face down, her head in the crook of her elbow. she dreams strange colorful dreams of candyland landscapes and alien foliage. 

when she wakes up it is all folded, and she is in a bed she has never seen before, and there is sun streaming through the open windows. it smells like summer, it sounds like summer, she can even hear children playing and an ice cream truck in the distance. winter faded away in her dreams and she is warm again.