Orange peel and baby Llama

I had a dream…

The three year-old me squatting down among her pals in a pile of sand pit, juggling sand, dirt, little pebbles that would take a pair of insightful innocent hearts to

decipher the most hidden codes written beneath ordinary nature’s facades;

“Who’s orange peel is that?”

A pudgy finger pointed at a wrinkly dry-piece of orangey thingy,

by my “future” feet..

“Oh, that’s my Garrison Cap. Tomorrow is my last day in the Naval Base Hospital,

you guys are all welcomed to my departure ceremony.”

Dusting off the golden uniform, putting on that folded military cap…

Despite my dark blue T-shirt inside, not

uniform-code coordinated with my golden peanut-butter dress…

I am all set, smart-looking and sun-shinny,

like a smiley proud sun-flower ready for a last uniform-inspection.

But for now, let’s just focus on the work in the hands, of

three year old us,

constructing our magnificent sand-castle,

baby-sitting a fluffy white Llama—

such a gifted tidy nifty sharp-shooter, leaving no mess behind,

squirting out straight lines of pee, or spit..

aiming only at that far-reaching drainage pipe hole; and

an amazing talented painter,

farting out trail of rainbow bridge,

lightening the evening sky with rounds of applause,

sparkling glitter, bubbles, and dreamy fire-works.