Dreams of Memory

The small cup-shaped structures, about the size of a hummingbird nest, grew up from the rich soil in his garden. Each morning, with the cups filled with dew water from the night before, he places the tiny white dream eggs in the upturned receptacles. In the warm sun, the eggs grow and stretch until they rupture, spewing the spores to make more living cups. 

The older the cup, the larger it grows, and the larger dream egg he can fit inside. Some dreams, the smallest, are mere wisps, a flavor or color or passing emotion. The largest, and there are only a few of those, tell stories of struggle or conflict or joy or effort. These are his prize eggs, and before they burst, he takes them inside his cottage to consume them, add them to his own memories. 

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