I will agree or grant that not all of this has an obvious use. It's not like pruning roses or writing science fiction.

A young bird appeared, transparent as a jelly fish, no doubt difficult to imagine. But it was a dream, which will be explained. This bird outran statistics, and the pleasures of calculus, to become a hat without a rabbit. It brought a certain joy.

A bowling ball curled down the alley, through leaves which were not to be allowed at the door. And the world was shining exhibition colors, bringing a certain satisfaction. And now, as days shorten through an unlikely September, the moment comes alive.

Images that form in my camera or dreams invoke a correspondence between distant cousins. And the captions rise up as flotsam and jetsam, to become artifacts scavenged by collectors. Birds in their higher streams finally consign them to earth, singing songs that recall the Firebird. But dreams are personal.

The bird that visited is best imagined as one of one. That will do, will have to.

Imagine the gossamer reality of a jelly fish, its tentacles and body a world scarcely distinguished from its home. Create scaffold wings and jeweled liniments, oil sheen radium scintillations that breathe. See the gills of a floating web. Surely you have seen it, or will. The fragile youngster with iridescent wings, unable to fly as yet. Precious. Would you not cup your hands, as I did, to treasure it? One of one, protected with loving care, and neither the male nor the female gender will find any difference in this.

We dream our dreams, not designed for replication and repeatability, nonetheless as real as other dreams, and rather more beautiful in my opinion, than a benzene ring. Certainly not as dangerous as E = MC².

It seems a caption must be appended. This bird is not a totem but a meme.

Iridescent bird, fledged in freedom, you are ready. Fly!