Never complain about not having interesting dreams. You never know what's coming down the pike.
Last night's were bizarre, but kind of fun. I wrote a poem about one this morning.
Each dream in the series had a common theme of moving house. I was a passenger in the back of a panel truck full of relatives looking for the New Place. A sleazy street guy, ex-Hell's Angel, gave directions. At a stoplight we spotted Bill Clinton talking to men in suits on the corner. He recognized the dude with us and crossed the street to chat. Then he recognized me from other dreams and we caught each other up on recent events in our lives. I'm always so happy to see him in dreams.
We moved from a slum in Duarte to a lower-middle-class duplex on a shady street in a city that resembled Denver. We couldn't remember the street name. It sounded Spanish. We milled around on the sidewalk. A policeman walked up to move us along.
A Steller's jay was with me wherever I went. She was my bird. She was building a nest on a stucco ledge. I named her Stella.
I spotted the street sign as the cop turned us around. It was larger and more ornate than any street sign I've ever seen: a stylized dragon breathed fire, its tail becoming a fabulous script spelling out the street name--a word beginning "Eldracon."
The new place was run down. The knobby stucco was chipped and dirty. The contractor told the landlord it was not possible to renovate here. After a disappointed moment, I went in, knowing I'd make it beautiful anyway.
The bizarre parts--Bill Clinton is a little bird in a cage. The policeman tells me he saw condensation on the wires. Oh no! I've left the cage in the sun. I run over to check but Bill Clinton is fine. A cat has killed one of the other birds, though, and runs off with bright orange feathers coming out its mouth. Fiona's dog was there, and perhaps Fiona, and the dog had a thyroid disorder. The last image I recall was the one from the poem, my mother the cabbage. What do we get from that--cabbage, cruciferae, cabbage patch ... No, not much cohered last night.
***
It's a gorgeous beautiful day so far, warm and dry, although clouds still occupy most of the sky under a bright sheet of haze.
I have items to mail, papers to send to North Carolina land of my fathers. Dog Sally has rolled in something very dead. Ugh. She will stay in the garage until I come back from errands and bathe her. Bad dog.
11:37:40 AM 
|
