Floating

I've been afflicted with strange dreams.

Dreams that are strange and repetitive enough that they are like memories rather than dreams, difficult to pull from the pool of experience and toss aside with the reminder: this isn't real.

One in particular, or rather an action, since the context and setting vary, but this action repeats, repeats enough that I stand in the shower and puzzle over whether or not it is true.

In these dreams I can float or move through air. Not with soaring abandon, but as the practice of a very delicate skill that I have mastered. It's like walking on top of lightly crusted snow, or thin flexible ice; if I place my feet just so the crust will hold. This floating is like that, stretching the body on to the cushion of air, stretching it just so there is no pressure point to puncture the cushion, and then I am aloft.