The birthday wish

It was my birthday already past 2 AM when I decided to go to bed. The first birthday wish clocked in on Facebook just before I turned the lights off. Stefan Zweig sent me his regards. 'Stefan Zweig? Isn't he dead?' I asked myself, remembering well my teenage crush on his writing and his fate. 'What's Stefan Zweig doing on Facebook, wishing me well on my 52nd birthday?' I got under the warm duvet and felt the lovely hardness of the Japanese tatami and futon I sleep on. I dreamt in fragments. The gist of it was this: 'there's only one that's highest and only one that's longest.' There was laughter in this dream and the softest tenderness. Squirrels too. When I recollect myself, I may tell the story of it in details some day, 'Burning Secret' style. But I got the message. As soon as I opened my eyes, I checked the astro app on my phone. Mercury was exactly on the Ascendant. Stefan Zweig wrote a greeting from the future. Birthdays are strange events. Sometimes we go amok in our own stories.