Some dreams grasp onto your elbow, and gently stroke the hairs on your arm.
Some dreams swagger on by with a peacock strut and sly glimmer in their eye.
And some dreams are the backyard bird-feeder of chatter.
There aren't enough ambitions, awards, accolades, responsibilities, duties, or morals to muzzle the buzzing, whistling, and screeching chitter-chatter of the backyard bird-feeder dream.
(*note from a later time when I looked at a globe=34 degrees would be a much longer journey than my backyard bird-feeder dream)