I’ve been having some vivid dreams lately.

In one memorable one, I am coming near the edge a grass verge leading down to a windswept pier, looking out at the sparkling sea and the curve of coast a little further beyond, all draped in a light dusting of mist, and I feel a bit lost – I’m not sure what I am doing here, in my dream; it looks a little like Cape Cod, only utterly deserted, and I feel vaguely marooned – when I see a familiar figure walk up the shore, to a boathouse I did not know was there.  It is a colleague and friend I know well, and as I wave and smile at her, the relief I feel wakes me up and makes me long to find out what we would have talked about.

In another, I am in a hammocky contraption in a deep doze late at night, when the treehouse I am in shivers, and my eyes open to slits and I look about expecting a vague but very real threat – I would open my eyes further and get up and look around but I cannot I am so tired – and the threat is real and urgent, so I desperately keep my eyes open as long as I can, and I see a pug dog, in the traditional pug pose, sitting up, head tilted, questioning and solemn – as if it is saying, hey, it’s ok, I’m here – and reassured I close my eyes and settle back to sleep.

Later, I’m not sure how long later, it’s about 5.30am, and I wake up to a loud storm, pelts and lashes and waves of rain mixed with crashes of thunder and lightning so bright it leaks past the sides of my curtains.

Author: lichone

Ethics by Enid Blyton; physique by deep-fried things. I think we all have an instinct to tell stories and to build things and relationships,

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