I just awoke from a longer than usual night of sleep.
I dreamed so hard I woke up with my left ear folded over and painful.
I lay on a sofa on the second floor of the New York Public Library wrapped in fur skins, turning the pages of a large book until all the lights were turned out around me. Ancient women gently pushed me out the door and I was suddenly in the dark, violent streets.
I drove through the unknowable avenues like a tiny ball in a huge pinball machine, swerving through noise and neon.
I lost the car somewhere and wandered through fog-filled halls with other lost children. They clung to my ankles, mistakenly thinking I knew the way home.
Then there was the ocean. I saw marble statues, half drowned in the green surf, unblinking eyes wide, terrifying, irresistible.
The old man spoke, then. He broke from the network of vines criss-crossing his chest to walk with me. He stumbled. Sometimes he crawled. But his message for me rumbled, creaked and roared out of that voice that had become strange through disuse.
I looked at my right arm this morning to see if it bore a mark from his grip.
Upon awaking, I passed an old mirror on my way to the computer keyboard. There! The old man again. In one of my eyes.
I'm compelled by dreams to take a sabatical from blogging for a few weeks, and won't be writing or reading in this space. I will be available via e-mail, however, and would love to hear from you.
See you in September!