MANTLE OF DREAMS:

I am walking in a winter forest & have lost my way. The sky has disappeared in its whiteness; the trees & ground have become one in this soft, white, sparkling silence. The only sound I hear is my own breathing as I plod through this icy labyrinth. I now smell smoke, a woody warm scent tickling my frozen nostrils, & after a few more steps, through a cathedral of gigantic, snow-clad trees, I spy a log cabin. From the eaves of this little haven´s roof hang long crystal icicles, & from the little chimney there is the woody culprit that tickled my nose minutes ago, a curling friendly twirl of smoke. In one of the windows there is a golden glow, & when I get closer I see it is the most delicate little teapot lamp, its gentle light inviting me closer. I knock on the little wooden door with the wolf´s head door-knocker & the door is opened by a lovely old lady dressed in black with a pointed hat atop her silver hair. Her green eyes sparkle with a smile & she beckons me in. In the little cabin it is warm & cosy & she tells me to sit in the rocking chair by the fire to warm myself while she finishes her task. There is three-legged pot suspended over the orange flames & fruity, warm, pungent aromas arise from it. A black cat lying in front of the hearth stretches & opens one emerald eye & goes back to sleep. I watch the old lady at her task. She is sitting at a spindle spinning, but I cannot see any yarn as her nimble fingers swiftly work at what looks like nothing. She rises, smiles, & then she comes over to the hearth where she unhooks a ladle hanging from a hook, & ladles some of the pungent liquid into forest-green mugs. She offers me wild honey to sweeten my beverage & a plate of almond cookies. The tea is fruity & feral to my pallet & she tells me it is tea made from fruits of the forest, gathered with the morning dew still on the berries. After tea I rose to leave, thanking her for her hospitality & as I was leaving, I asked what she was spinning as I had not seen anything. She smiled, & made to envelop me in an invisible cloak. She looked deep into my eyes & said, " I have spun for you a mantle of dreams, which I now enfold you in. It is lighter than the lace web of a spider, softer than an Angel´s whisper, more delicate than gossamer, more translucent than an autumn mist, but its powers are stronger than life itself. With this mantle you wake up to the knowledge that dreams are what YOU make." With these words she closed the door & I went back the way I came. I looked back to find there was no little cabin with the lighted teapot in the window, it had gone, but I carry my mantle of dreams with me every day.