I saw a man sleep under that tree. They said he’d been asleep for days. He isn’t dead, he’s just asleep. Nobody wakes a sleeping man, worse still, a dreaming man.
No one saw this tree grow. Baba Aare is the oldest man in this community and in a hundred decade he swore he never saw this tree and that the first time he laid his cataractous sight on it, he was certain it had dropped from the sky. On his first sight, as the day was bright and every other tree was green, baba Aare swore by his dead ancestors that this tree had blue leaves and these leaves he said had lines running across it like the red veins in the eye of an angry man. When asked the color of the sky on this day, baba testified and in his nature swore a second time that the sky had never been greener.
Baba Ayuba guards the community in the dark. He walks the street at night with his shot gun aimed at the stars. He said he saw a man pace up and down the street, penchant, looking distressed, and then he ran like a horse that’d just seen a ghost, circled the tree in a sprint, stopped in an instant, gazed deep into the dark sky, opened his mouth to the rain like he was about to roar, and like thunder, the earth shook, and then the lightning came down and he swallowed all its brightness. He swallowed the lightning. Sate afterwards, he slept and he’s yet to wake up.
The dreamer on the other side of the dream, the man who swallowed the light.