Hush now.

Listen quietly. Huddle close to the fire and say nothing of the wind. It may hear you. It may not like what you have to say. Close your shutters, lock your door, and don't listen to the spirits when they come knocking. If they like you too much they may take you for the Hunt. They might snatch you right up and force you to ride with them; twirling, tumbling, howling through the night sky for the rest of eternity.

Oh, but what a ride it will be. There's a sort of breathless freedom that comes with charging through that sky. There's a comfort with feeling the heat of your fellow riders

and knowing that you were never alone and you never will be again.

Hush now.

Foggy fish breath and broken canals can’t underestimate the soul any more than a humid hawk can
understand the vastness of lament. We’re born, terms and conditions applicable, subject to change,
slogging our way through muddied canyons and hose water.
…

It was supposed to be a perfectly ordinary cold and gray Pacific Northwest morning. At least I thought so until I realized that there was an insistent, bossy voice yelling at me from behind my bedroom door.

"Get up, get up! I'm hungry, I'm bored, I want you to be up! Get up, get up!"

Which was impossible because I lived alone. Well, not counting my cat.

This was probably one of those fancy dreams I read about, where one wakes up into another dream. Cool!

"Open the door! Open the door!"

Nothing to be afraid of, it's only a dream. I got up and opened the bedroom door. Toby, my orange tabby, ran in and jumped on the bed. I sat down next to him.

I asked, "Was it you telling me to get up?"

"Of course it was me," he replied. "Who else would it be?"

I'm definitely dreaming, I thought. For sure. No doubt about it.

"Scratch my head behind the ear," he purred. "And by the way, you're not dreaming."

"I think I must be."