I lay on the grass and pull on the blades that become ribbons of green, six feet long and flapping in the breeze. They twist around, forming words in some kind of strange language - I cannot read it, but the clouds can. They won’t tell me what the grass wants me to know, though. A multicolored butterfly, wings spotted with green and blue, flits past my sight. I rise, and follow it; the grass waves goodbye, then shrinks again; it doesn’t want the rabbits to know it can write.

I find myself walking down the street after the butterfly, remarkably unsurprised at how deeply I seem to be sinking into the pavement. Each step is sluggish, like moving through ankle-deep mud. No one else seems to notice, and I suppose I must be thankful for that, or else they might make comment about my hair, which seems to have turned into snakes. They whisper in my ears that I should not look back, that it will only call attention to the ripples I’m leaving in my wake. The snakes are wise.

I stand under a tree, transfixed by the tiny multicolored worms that crawl over the bark. They sing a song, each chirping a different note; my thumb joins in the song, and that surprises me, because I didn’t know my thumb knew the words. The leaves on the tree are all green and silver, except they are not leaves, but tiny frogs that jump off the twigs and branches and scatter. I call out to warn the frogs to be careful of the people walking past, but instead of words only purple and blue bubbles come out my mouth. One drifts lazily into the air, then pops; the butterfly was hiding inside! It giggles at me, then flies away again.

I peek down an alley. The man with the horse’s head pointed this way, that this is where the butterfly went.  I know I can trust the man; horses do not lie. I have to move carefully, because now I am underwater. The water is milky, swirling. A dog stands on the wall, a German shepherd. He says words that I do not understand, but the butterfly knows them. It sits on my shoulder and whispers to me. The dog is Barnabas. He tells me to go to where I was before. This makes perfect sense, of course. The dog is a smart dog good dogg doggy doggy god dog gog dog. I lay down in the water and smile. The butterfly circles above me.

‘I knew you were mine! I founded you! I LOOKED.’

I lay on the grass and pull on the strands. They dissolve, falling onto the ground in big wet glops that turn into scorpions being ridden by mice. The mice are knights and they are fighting a war with the color yellow.  There is a girl standing over me, clapping her hands.  Her hair is all little multicolored braids. She wears a mint lab coat over an orange prom dress. A chain goes from her nose to her ear; it sparkles and shines like diamond. One of her eyes is blue, the other green with silver flecks. Her shadow falls around me like an old blanket. Around her wrist strings are tied; at the end of the strings are three red balloons and two iridescent angelfish. The fish are singing the same song as the worms. I try to tell them my thumb knows the song too, but only red bubbles come out. They understand me, though. You can tell.

The girl grabs my hand and helps me up.

‘Hi! I am looking for my doggie! Have you seen him? He is such a good doggie and a smart doggie. Do you like mango juice?.... ’ Her words are colored. I can see them hanging in the air before they fly into my ear and make a nest there. We walk away, hand in hand. She talks constantly, but I don’t mind. I can understand her words and her ideas make sense.

We reach the top of the hill. Skeletons play the banjo and trumpet under an umbrella that pours rain. The girl is wearing beads and feathers. She asks them if they have seen her dog. They shake their heads; delicate blue flowers bloom in their eye sockets and honey pours from their mouths. The girl’s lip trembles. She dissolves into a thousand butterflies and fishes that wheel and dance in the sky. The flock that was the girl spins around and around and around, then each explodes into a burst of light. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

The skeletons continue to play. The green-and-blue spotted butterfly pours out of the trumpet and flaps down the hill. The breeze blows strongly; my hair falls out and sails away like dandelion fluff. Spreading my arms to let the wind catch me, I follow the butterfly.