The Dream Tree

I can see the tree. The vastness of it. The height. From the top, I knew I would be able to see forever. The breeze would tug at my hair, the sun warming my pale skin. The thrill of being so high would send shivers down my spine. Elation. Giddiness. Splendor. But I’m not in the tree. I’m not even preparing for the long climb. I’m not enjoying the sweet aroma of the apples or listening to the leaves rustling in the gentle wind. I’m treading water in the churning river beneath the tree. Whirlpools threatening to pull me under into the dark frigid water. The memory of the blissful view disappeared like the shriveling rotten fruit. The tree disappears. The shore disappears. All I see is water. Desperate and hopeless, I struggle to move my leaden limbs.