Tonight Xander asked me if we were allowed to touch stars. I told him if we got close enough, but they would be very, very hot. We’d burn our fingers.
I usually dream about the same places most nights. Different things happen in these familiar locations, but I’ve been dreaming about them so long that every blade of grass or window shutter is as familiar as my own home. Maybe more so, because I’ve only lived in this house a year. My dream-homes have been with me all my life. Perhaps it’s actually a sort of by-product of gypsy feet: your conscious self moves around every couple of years, your subconscious plants roots in ethereal realms.
One of my dream-settings is a forest with lots of pine, river birch, magnolias, redbuds, and dogwoods. In this place it’s usually mid-Autumn or newly Spring. If it’s Spring pink and green petals shower from the tree limbs, covering the ground like snow. The forest isn’t dark, and its hills are peaceful. There are no dark corners or frightening whispers. In the Autumn, gold and orange leaves rustle in small windstorms at my feet. It’s lovely and peaceful. Just the other night I was there, and I wasn’t alone. A white horse was at my side, and I was feeding it an apple. The horse wasn’t smoothly groomed and masculine; it was shaggy and sweet.
I used to dream about a huge shopping mall, tragically 80’s in style and dark in lighting. The stores were never all that fantastic, and the sales were never exciting. But if I walked long enough through the mall, if I paced each of its seven levels (was the mall Hell? Hmmm…), I would be allowed to leave the mall for some place beautiful. The beautiful place was different each night.
Do you know what? I stepped foot in that mall once. Years and years after I started dreaming about it. The mall I had been dreaming about was the Fifth Avenue Mall in Anchorage. I’d never been before 2008, but had dreamed about it since I was a teenager (late 1990’s). If my dreams are prophetic, why can’t I have the pretty horse and the forest? Why did I get the outdated shopping mall? I don’t know, and I don’t dream about that mall any more. Its pink neon magic spell was broken at my feet once I walked inside for real.
PS: Thank ya’ll, for your patience while I work this kink out of my system. You’re used to quality (ha) posts and writing on here (ha ha). The best way to get out of writing rut is to write yourself out of it, and for whatever reason doing so in a public manner instead of in a hidden moleskin notebook has always just felt right to me. I know lots of us are feeling the end of season, retrograde blues and if I could squeeze you all I would. We could sit in a circle and hand one another tissues. Someone would be in charge of coffee and someone else in charge of desserts. Love you all.