I had one long, continuous dream last night. When I woke this morning I played through it in my head - recounting the various twists and turns of the story my brain conjured up. For once it all made sense - there was no crazy - no disjointed plot twists, location changes, or characters bursting in from stage left.
A group of us were out for a walk along the side of a river somewhere. It was summertime. Among us were myself, my other half, some good friends that live across the way, and some of their friends that we’ve not seen for a while.
While walking along, everybody else was deep in conversation about this and that - strung out along the footpath alongside the river. Gesticulating, laughing, pointing, telling stories, and I guess doing what people do. Peopling. I’m not always very good at peopling, so drifted towards the back - listening, and finding I didn’t have anything much to add - so didn’t.
After some time, one of the party - the same person that introduced Rocky Horror to me a few weeks ago - fell into step alongside me. I didn’t see her approaching - I felt her hand take mine. Neither of us said a word - we just smiled and continued on. While the rest of the group noisily walked ahead, we wandered along behind, holding hands like two small children on a school trip - not making conversation - just happy to be there.
And that’s when I woke up.
As this morning has unfolded, moments from the dream have surfaced again and again. I finally gave in, and wrote it down, because it felt like the right thing to do. I always find that if I don’t either tell somebody about a dream, or write it down, it vanishes forever. Somehow thinking about it adds some sort of permanence to it.
There it is. Perhaps more Pooh and Piglet than Calvin and Hobbes, but still kind of wonderful in a strange sort of way.