The bluebird as she sings

It’s a Sunday afternoon.  

I'm sitting on the window seat, leaning against golden cushions and wrapped in a dark red blanket, holding a book.  The words of the book are fading to a pale blue wash in front of my eyes, reflecting the pale blue sky outside which is etched with white.  I run my fingers along the cream coloured fabric of the window seat as I contemplate the scenery.  

The rustling trees are orange and bronze.  I look down and see a black and white dog running joyfully over the grass, barking, chasing butterflies.
 
Getting up, I leave the book on the window sill and walk down the stairs, one hand trailing down the wooden banister feeling the dents and imperfections in the wood.  I stop to readjust a picture that is hanging crooked on the wall.  Whilst I'm contemplating the peacock blues of the painting, I hear a sound coming from the living room.
 
I walk into the living room to investigate.  It is fragrant with the freshly baked smell of chocolate cake, and I can see one cooling in the kitchen from where I stand.  A vase of red tulips stands on a table covered in a white tablecloth that is edged with leaves.  The carpet is soft beneath my feet, with a faint green geometric pattern on it. 
 
Kneeling in the middle of the carpet is a child about a year old, holding some building bricks in her hands.  She has dark brown hair adorned with a yellow ribboned hairclip and is wearing a caramel jumper underneath denim dungarees.  She is singing a song about rainbows and her clear voice fills the air.  MDH is sitting on the sofa watching her, and he turns to smile at me.
 
My eyes fill with tears as I realise that the little girl, the house, even the dog outside are mine.  Ours.
 
I blink and it is all gone.  In front of me is my revision textbook, and I am lying on the sofa in my living room.  My cheeks are still wet with tears.  Maybe this day will come, maybe not.
 
I am a daydream believer.  Are you?