When the light turns on, everything within a two foot radius illuminates with a warm, candlelight color. The desk’s antique brown stain shimmers, the pages of the notebook turn caramel, and the wall tapestry marries forest green tones with light

, reflecting it back onto the eyes of the artist. They’re taking notes about something, but you can’t make it out through the fog that is the dream. You catch a glimpse as they page through that there was a drawing of the very lamp they just flicked on. In their eyes, you can see concern, imagination, and lust. A spruce hangs over you as you lean back against the bark. The air smells like autumn leaves, though you’re sure it’s the middle of winter. ‘Chewink-chewink’ ’too-wink, too-wink’. There’s a towhee. The leather of the boots shows its age, the uppers being covered by jeans or another work pant are soft, still with some shine. The toes are worn near-bare to the steel underneath. Mudding around in the soil with your feet, you can feel there’s something hard just below the surface. A root of the spruce. Burgeoning from the bark are little branches you pluck off to grow saplings. These trees will build you a fine home someday.