February 12, 2008

11:25 p.m.

Dream Counsel

Cold beautiful day, after the dream of the big white house and orchard, and the old farmer and his wife who let us rest there awhile. I ran and ran outside in the orchard garden, on the balls of my bare feet, my white linen skirt whooshing up in the wind like Marylin Monroe's. I had to hold it bunched in my hand. When I crossed outside the fence by the road, I was in an ordinary place. Once I came into the yard, there was something else going on, a magic. I ate blueberries that replenished themselves in the container. Saw grapes, not yet full grown. I was so happy and there was such a belonging, and when the farmer came out to have his lunch on the lawn table, we smiled at each other and he gave me such a knowing little nod, like he knew what the place meant to me. Almost as if he and the wife were spirits, there to show me this place knowing it was magical for me.

I wrote down the dream after waking and, a short time later, thought that the farmer might have looked a lot like my mother's father, Council. He hit the road when she was nine, so we never knew him, and I've seen only one picture of him. Might have resembled him somewhat. I've never dreamed of him before.

But the house... what wouldn't I give to live in that house, to have that garden.

I wondered if the old woman was myself in the future, showing me that there will be a place for me to call home.