Indigo light pushed its way gently into the morning. Swiftimonds darted back and forth, their iridescent bodies lit up like prisms against the aquamarine sky. I yawned, wiping the sleep from my eyes. Swaying in time to the rhythm of the swiftimonds’ morning song, I steadily gained momentum until my hammock flipped over, sending me cascading down between the riboheth trees, gliding between their flaky, silver trunks, wings extended. My feet touched the ground, making small indentations in the velvety, fuscia grass. Marifelds sprung up spontaneously where I’d landed, rising and lifting their glittering, tangerine petals toward the sun.