A book of dreams, the colors faded.

I was on my walk the other day just walking along and daydreaming about some triviality when I noticed the little friend on the left entering my space. I haven't seen squirrels as a regular event and never ones that didn't run like Hell. This one was almost friendly. On the right, sitting at the fork in the tree (see arrow) is a second squirrel barely 50 yards beyond the first one.
Today I saw three single engine aeroplanes fly overhead. That's quite a few my experience. And I heard a fourth one But it is a beautiful day to fly. The air is still but excellent visibility. The temperature is 58 degrees, just about right.
On the subject of Poetry. "On the table, a book of dreams, the colors faded". How many pictures does it conjure up? Let your imagination flow and meditate on the meaning of that. How many stories could you weave around that sentence? Let the poetry flow. One rarely loses his/her dreams but the metaphor of a faded colors is an excellent one. That's poetry. It also brings to mind the old country song,"Faded Love". Faded Love is the theme song for the bluegrass electric radio show to which I faithfully listen on Saturday mornings now that it's back. There's music in the air.
Country music is proof that we're all on this flight together.

Dick