I'm having this dream. Within the dream, I know that it's a dream, I feel it, but it's pretty real so I want it to continue.
I'm riding down the bike lane, but instead of bicycles, there are these flower things floating along. I know that it is not real to see flower things floating along the bike lane instead of bicycles, but it's rather enjoyable, and I decide that since I more or less seem to be blending in, I must be a flower thing, too. I feel floaty and easy and balanced, sort of like when I ride my bicycle, but when I look down expecting to see my legs going around in circles pushing the pedals, instead I see stems, leaves, and petals falling off me, and then I know that I am also a flower thing. We flower things are moving along at a medium pace, sometimes stopping to dawdle a bit when something catches our eye, or to stop whenever the mood strikes us to have a flower gathering, known as a bouquet, with other flower things.
Occasionally, there are bees. I do not know the exact or total deep relationship between us flower things and the bees, although it is apparent that we treat them with the utmost respect, that we always stop when they fly near us, and that they land on us and fill us with a feeling of joy. Pollination may be going on, but that's not where the feeling comes from. It's more like a heartfelt welcoming, a belonging-together, a oneness of different yet necessary, and complimentary, souls.
Also moving along the street are these large, tubular metal things which make a lot of noise and smoke. They kind of grind along in a clumsy, but fast motion, and appear heavy and dangerous. They are not flower things. They resemble the tank parts of gasoline tankers, so I think of them as tanker things, in my dream. They do not dawdle, or pause, but continue forward at a high rate of speed, with a purpose and single-minded dedication to get Somewhere Else quickly. They are in haste, and mean business. Time is money. Sadly, maddeningly, the tanker things smash through the bees without a care, leaving trembling and damaged bees all over the road. We flower things stop to try to give aid to the bees, but the roaring and wind-blowing of the tanker things makes this difficult. We try anyway.
Whenever a tanker thing roars and rumbles past a bouquet, or a single flower thing, the flower thing startles back a bit, involuntarily from the loud grinding sound and smoke that the tanker thing makes, and also loses a petal or two, or a leaf, in the passing wind. The tanker things and flower things don't seem to be working together too well, in the vicinity of one another, although the flower things in their own lane appear to make do.
Then I discover that I have this power. Again, I realize in the dream that I am dreaming, so I don't really believe I have this power, but rather just a neat thing to do in dreams: I can pick up the tanker things, and move them Elsewhere. I don't really know where I am putting them, all I know is that whenever a tanker thing passes near to a flower thing, I can pick up the tanker thing somehow, and put it Elsewhere. As I ride along and continue to pick up tanker things and put them elsewhere, there are fewer and fewer of them on the road, until there are none.
When the flower things understand that all the tanker things are gone, we all move out into the full road, and fill it edge to edge with our flowing flower thing motion. Flower things appear to be able to change their colors, so to celebrate our newly felt lack of contention from the tanker things, we all turn white. Flower things come out from their workplaces and living places, their apartments and the coffee shops, all to float down the road together. We're all going somewhere, the same place, but we're not sure where.
When we get there, though, we all understand. All the tanker things that I put Elsewhere are floating in San Francisco harbor, a great jumble and tumble of metal cylinders bouncing among the waves, and beneath the iconic red bridge with its two towers. This seems like a potential pollution issue, I realize, which causes me great panic, but the other flower things who understand my powers better than I do bouquet around me and assure me that I also emptied the tanker things of their contents before dropping them into the water, and tell me to watch. Whenever two tanker things are smashed together in the waves, they are transformed into thousands of flower things, and float on the air to join us.
We flower things, still all in white, form an unending winding linear bouquet along the hills and bluffs and streets around the harbor, and we're all watching the empty tanker things bobbing in the waves. Whenever two of them smash together, a quiet, yet distinct, flower thing cheer goes up. And from far away, drawn by the sounds of our cheers, the bees arrive, all of them. They land on us, and we are filled with joy.
Within the dream, I know that it's a dream, I feel it, but it's pretty real so I want it to continue.