I hear we dream in black and white.
In my dreams I know I've seen someone in a green t-shirt. The kind of green that used to be bright, almost neon, but now seems dingy, as though it's been through too many washes, too many t-shirt disappointments and hangs limp and faded, leaving a stronger impression for what it was intended to be than what it is now.
So I know either that I dream in colour, or my mind adds colour as separate, imagined, dream-information, even though my dreams are in black and white.
Or something.
She has her feet in dreams; Dreams deeper than what she can feel with her toes, standing there in the uppermost layer. Perhaps she will swish her net and catch a wet butterfly. Or drop the net and run back on land. I imagine she will toss the net aside and jump in, swim with the flutter, the tickle, the colour of all that she cannot see until she does dive in.
