by Tantalus E.
A child reaches her hand up into a glittering web. She is caught under a spell of shimmering strings made of threads so fine that they hum with music of the passing wind. It is as if you can almost hear the gentle sound of glass raindrops falling on blue and white crossed strings.
She is entranced and held in one of those glass beads on this strange web. But she cannot explain why it has such an overwhelming power over her thoughts, the way the strings hum, the slightest touch a jolt to her existence- the way she feels that if she keeps on staring her dreams will be encircled by those white threads and freed to spill upon her head and heart. She sees visions of beautiful landscapes toppling below into reality, replacing the crashing loudness of this world. She watches the slightest waver of interruption play on this humming, breathing trap.
She is loathe to leave, maybe, just maybe she will stay here forever- forgetting the coming dawn, the cold draft, the way the plastic window cover snaps in the breeze: She can forget the world tumbling down around her small, closed fingers and instead, wait for desires admitted only in her dreams to spill free into real time. In this life she can always imagine the world beyond here and now. Some say she is a crazy person staring at the ceiling all night long. The dream catcher was truly orenda of the craftiest iktomi ever known to haunt this earth.
The strings caught the light with their little flecks of silver sacred moonbeams. She lay her head down, staring up until her eyes began to close beneath the starry layers of night- in a dream of plastic stick on stars and shimmering threads. She could not remember yelling- only watching light play on string in the dark, her eyes measuring the slightest bump on an invisible ride and carrying her on to higher grounds. She remains a baby beneath the perambulator- forever caught in a story of silver moonbeam threads.