“Your dreams should be as big as the sky,” the weaver said.
The boy looked up from the street corner, surrounded by skyscrapers.
The girl looked up from the forest floor to see the canopy of trees, a patch of far-away blue peeking through the heavily leaved branches.
“The sky isn’t very big,” the boy said.
“That little sky up there?” the girl said.
The weaver finally saw the problem. He winked. And in that wink, the boy and the girl were standing in a meadow. They didn’t see how it happened, they didn’t feel the shift, but they saw the sky.
It was big and blue, and puffy clouds dotted the expanse. They could see to the horizon, and the horizon was farther away than they had ever imagined.
“All right, then,” the weaver said. “Your dreams should be as big as this sky.”
He blinked again. The boy was back on the corner. The girl was in the forest among the trees.
But now they were dreaming.