As an adult, I dreamed of the fence, peeking through the broken slats once again.
In my eight year old dreams, the view beyond the fence was where I longed to be. Every child dreams of a storybook place and this was mine.
Through the fence, a beautiful meadow strewn with pastel flowers, led to a stream. Bluegreen water with fanciful creatures, fairies, and sprites hovering and chubby frogs I could hold that just might turn into a prince. My dream continued into evening with the very same frogs creaking and fireflies illuminating the space, completed with bright stars.
The Bag Lady 
Sounds like a form of meditation 🧘♀️
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