Little dreams. They come in small packages. And never with a warning. They catch you by surprise, like a storm that blows the hat off the head of a lonesome man, who walks under the miserable, hanging arms of a naked winter tree. A fragile thought lingers in me, and I imagine smelling a hint of fire enfolded in the misty morning haze that halts with hesitation over the frozen fields. There’s a night to remember, and a little dream in the break of dawn.