Whimsy

So there I was, numb, dumb, and unable to move.
And flying.
Below me I watched in confusion and awe as I flew, feeling nothing that would indicate that I was alive but knowing that I was not just alive but awake and aware.
I couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on my back but I could tell that they were there as I could see below me the fuzzy shadowed outline of my shape. I appeared to be a cloud.
Somewhere within my brain a tiny bell rang and I thought, a-ha.
I was beginning to remember something. A glimmer of memory, a tiny shred of elusive knowledge, that may or may not lead to elucidation. It began with an argument, or a heated discussion. Perhaps it was only a conversation but one that was weighted with a heaviness of importance and significance beyond the meaning of the actual words.
And then my brain grew quiet and all that remained was the ability to see what was below me.
I was flying over fields and meadows. The early spring flowers punctuated the green sprigs of growing crops with tiny pixels of colour. A stream rippled away from me. Light reflecting from the cool morning sun flashed brightly as the water trickled unstoppably to its final integration.
Grey haired rabbits emerged from dark brown holes of homes, white tails bobbing in a teasing target practice risk.
No! I must think, not see. I must remember why I am here rather than… well, rather than wherever I usually am. Wherever that is.