Dreaming in Colour

When I was twenty-two.
I had a vision.
While I was asleep.
Not a dream.
A premonition.

I dreamt in colour.
Odd for me.
Something to take note of.

I was in a park.
Sitting on a bench.
Surrounded by grass.
A vibrant green.
Ever so slightly overgrown.
They would come to cut it.
In a day or two.
The sky was clear.
I looked at the brilliant blue.
A warm spring day.
So comfortable and content.

My gaze shifted.
To watch a man and his son.
Both dressed in white.
The man had his back to me.
He lifted up his son.
Four years old.
He had my cheek bones.
His father's hair and eyes.

In tune with them.
Their joy extending around me.
My love encompassing them.
They were my family.
I smiled.

This image.
A moment.
Has never left my memory.
I can see it at anytime.
Right now when I close my eyes.
Perfectly clear.
Not the hazy recollection.
Of a fading dream.

For some reason.
Incomprehensible.
Quite random in my mind.
This thought is always associated.
With the number.
Three.