6 de janvier (cinq moi)

I found myself walking along a sandy path with the warm glow of the sun touching my face. I gently lift my face to welcome it’s warmth. As I continue on down the worn path I start to hear my name being called. It starts off and small, “sonya . . . sonya . . . sonya”. But as I near the callers the sound increases to more of a victorious chant, “Sonya . . . Sonya . . . Sonya”. The children are chanting my name as they run forward to grasp a hand or catch a timid but bold glimpse. I grasp my hands together and lift them high and shake them in victory as I pass by the cheering fans of eager children calling my name, I must be dreaming. This must be a dream where I have just run a triathlon and won or performed once again with Destiny Drama Company or perhaps I have just been crowned Queen of England. Surely this is a dream, a dream to justify this crowd of merry children that have scattered themselves along the warm sandy path to chant my name. Where else would one find children chanting ones name in such a manner as well as striving for a touch or glance. Yes, a dream this must be as I lower my hands and continue on down the well traveled path once more. While the sound gets further and further away the chant doesn’t’ seem to stop with my passing. I’ll just wait a little while longer before I wake myself, just a bit longer. . .