I was dreaming.
The girls were running in the snow. It was night, but the streetlamps were glowing and our porch light was on. They ran up the driveway and through the back gate. Colorful mittens throwing open latches. Laughter. The rush to get inside and away from the cold.
My writers mind made a note: "Try to figure out a way to capture that. To capture how oblivious they are to the absolute perfectness of their lives."
I started to think of ways to say it: "She didn't pay any attention, like a child who was born in a perfect home and thinks all homes are perfect."
Then I was inside with them and the middle girl was in my lap wearing pink plaid pajamas. And then she started to feel light.
Soon all the flesh of her was disintegrating into hot pink glitter. I was holding pink plaid pajamas and piles and piles of glitter.
My writers mind made a note: "Her face fell away and all that was left of her was glitter."
How about you? Do you write in your dreams?