living in an igloo

last night it was a dream about your daughter.
she was a little yellow rabbit,
minuscule and soft just quietly nestled in the cup of my left hand.

i was earnestly telling her that i could in fact live in an igloo
but only if i had adequate clothing,
{i envisioned many layers of sweaters, jackets, gloves, scarves}
a warm campfire with endless amounts of {homemade} marshmallows
and a vat of hot chocolate.

that's all the dream had for me,
but i can still see her in the palm of my hand
hoovering.
perhaps a little timid, but bright and vivid
with buttery-colored fur and restless whiskers.

and i sense in my response a desire to give her the answer she wants to hear:
that i am adventuresome and willing to live in an igloo.
that i am interesting and willing to live in an igloo.
that i am whatever it is {i am not quite sure} she's looking for.

and then i silence my criticism and realize that i'm just willing to play.
to enter into her world of fantasy where life in an igloo is a feasibility.
in which case, what would i really need to survive?
my creature comforts because i know i can't stand too much cold
and a few frivolities to make it exciting and something i would have daydreamed as a child.

so there you have it, my dears,
{all three of you}
yes,
i would live in an igloo.