Pillows Fallen From Heaven #18

He dreamt of feather pillows from the time he was just a young buck, My Grampa. The kind of pillows that are soft like clouds, floating up into the atmosphere. Swirling, whirling with just one touch to the little pink flowers. Aereolar brown, were the pillow cases. Like the skin of a velvet brown mink or martin. Resting your head just so. Tilted just right. Makes your nest nice and tight. Cuddle right-in-between-them. The perfect angle of rest, and of sight. The kind of rest you can curl up in a ball and forget you were ever born. Rest that takes you to a whole other plane of consciousness, bliss. Uncontrollable, unequivetable, unrelentless, euphoria---, ultimate utopia. Just two minutes there will put your eyes and body to sleep, but your mind is still left racing, like your heart. It all started with Grandmother’s soft feather pillows, they were the best and biggest. Fluffy if you like. They were full of love. Both of them, the twins, she called them. Big wouldn’t give them justice. Enormous, ginormous, still isn’t quit the word, wondrous, maybe. I think ‘ol Gramps was ambidextrous, never was he tenebrous. His demeanor was always happy, especially after a nice long nipper. The sweet smell that they had, lilac. And a touch of White Diamonds. Just around the neck. The softest pillows of the planet, the atmosphere, they always drew you in near….Never Fear. The gloriousness of them, hugs with no fear. Lightnin and thunda do sometimes clash, but those pillows will always last. Through the long night and until the wee morn. Grandmother and her pillows are now gone. And I’ll have to give it to the good ‘ol boy. Got himself a few other pairs, accompanied with Choke-cherry pie. He dreamt of feather pillows from the time he was just a young buck.