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Last night’s dream:

I was alone walking under the most perfect sky.  There was no breeze and although their were cotton puff clouds it was sunny enough I could feel the warmth on my shoulders.  I was thinner and wearing a white sundress.  I don’t own any white sundresses but I’ve always loved how beautiful a tanned woman looks in one.

I was walking -through tall yellow flowered weeds that reached my knees- drawn toward a place I felt I had visited often.  I stopped when I heard something scream.  At first it sounded like a person but as I circled I saw a bald eagle take flight from a cluster of trees in the distance before screaming again.

I passed some flat grave markers that were barely noticeable until I was standing over them. I barely glimpsed my name -my maiden name- and few others I knew before making my way to one I sat next too.  This marker had no name.

I placed my hand on the stone which the sun couldn’t seem to warm and I whispered, “I’m so sorry”.

I stood up and walked further as if I still hadn’t come to my destination.  I remember hearing nothing, it was completely silent.  I could feel the strength my muscles held as I walked, my hair caressing my back as my footsteps fell, I could smell the salty cinnamon of the earth.  I felt completely at peace and comfortable in this place all alone.

And then there was a shift in scenery and I was standing on the edge of a cliff staring at a universe of stars which seemed to be a mere reflection of the city below me.  I would say New York, it seemed like New York.

I started crying because my friends were down there and I was so far away.  I needed to tell them something but I had forgotten what.  I wanted to scream but I had no voice… I tried… no voice.

And then as I stood, staring at the world below, I heard from behind me:

“honey?” my mother’s voice

“honey?” my father’s voice

“honey?” my husband’s and daughter’s voice in unison

“Come back into the field and play with us?”



3 thoughts on “INTO THE LIGHT

  1. “I could smell the salty cinnamon of the earth”, Like the scents here at the moment. In its homeland, a weed is never a weed, it belongs and holds their own story. Just feel lulled, almost asleep kind of feel here at the moment, matches how a storm finds one waiting at times. Incredible work throughout the lines.

    Liked by 1 person

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