So today I finds myself walking down a street called Pinon while picturing a tower surrounded by dark, empty sky and trying to decide what to fill it with with. At once my mind fills with fireworks of all varieties, displays, and arrays of color. Orbs of light that speed like comets circle the tower I stand in with my arms holding onto Arielle like sustaining reality depended upon it. Wind begins to blow with intensity measureed only by a flashbulb of memory but echoing like film of crystal clarity as if it where a flashback. in a blur red lips, flapping skirts, exploding fireworks, barrages of light of multiple colors, and gigantic streaks of fire entering our peripherals from left to right. Such is only the beginning of a beautiful echo from a dream that flows through fissures in my thoughts until branching out far from their point of origin. A cloud descends and I back out of this memory for now.