The Way Life Unfolds

“It’s so different when we are children; when we can’t imagine any of this will happen, the way life will unfold.”

A thin young woman slumps in a wooden porch swing in the darkness of very early morning. She wears a long, midnight navy sheath dress. Two not-young, not-old men sit nearby in chairs pulled close to the swing.  They look up at the sound of my voice. I carry a full-to-the-brim martini. Two giant stuffed olives in it roll around, props on the wrong set. I put it down and move toward the young woman. A headlight strobes the porch. She lifts her head. The glitter of tears stops me.

Later, a van delivers an ornate crystal basket full of impossibly fresh yellow daisies.

Some dreams stay with you long past sunrise.

7 thoughts on “The Way Life Unfolds

    1. Good word. Haunts me, too. I almost didn’t post this one, but finally figured I should quit overthinking, and instead type up those just woke up scribbly notes and let the subconscious chips fall where they may.


    1. What did you ever do to WordPress to make them black ball your comments, Deanna? Reminds me of how our car locks me out when I get out to fetch the newspaper at the driveway. Buck has to click and let me back in. I tell him the car is trying to protect him from me. Like WordPress (and others), our sentries often can’t tell friend from foe. Thanks for your words and for persisting!


    1. Thanks, Kate. I do record many of them, although some goodies get missed because my desire for coffee supercedes my discipline to grab a note pad and scribble. And you know how elusive dreams are; if you don’t fix it in your mind the instant you wake up, stumble out and write at least a few words or sentences, it fades quicker than a cheap swimsuit. If you’d like to read my other dreams, look at the drop-down Category menu on the side column.


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