The sweet smell of damp oak permeates the air. The fresh feeling of the day seems capable of washing away all the wrongs of the day before. I don’t feel quite reborn, just refreshed. The hard surface of concrete that presses against my feet brings back the dull reminder of reality. I don’t feel very real right now. The thud of my heart beat is all that keeps me from floating up and up—into the clouds, into the sky, into the blinding fire of the sun. All I dream of is to fly, to stretch my hands as high as they can go, reaching, groping for the heavens—the stars, the universe, to hold in the palm of my hand.