Beyond the fence-yellow path where dreams are woven, there's a border. Just an edge, really, where dusk unmakes the world briefly.
Have you heard of it? They say you can find shapes half-hidden in the ether, whispering things spilled over from sleep.
"Ah, it's here," she murmured, eyes tracing the invisible line. On the other side, unnoticed words grew on trees and the ground hummed tunes of forgotten dreams.
"What lies out there?" a voice asked, one neither male nor entirely female. It had weight and mispronounced echoes.
And if you looked hard enough, you would see yourself, perched on the brink without a shadow, waiting for the fields of sleep to sing.
Another sphere floated past, casting fleeting haze upon her skin, swirling with the spectrum of hidden tunes.
Are we all just echoes of those moving spheres? Ponder as ingredient shifts the balanced potion of our daily brew.
The final orb glowed and quaked in the twilight, yearning for the touch of reality anew. It awaited unexpected guests beneath a dome of star-patched mystery.