I’m positive I’ve talked about this here before, but I can’t find the post, owing to the fact that the search function for the old archives is dead like a dead thing. I dreamed of floodwaters rising while I was at a party thrown by The Redhaired Bastard at a cottage on a lakefront. It was more than a simple flood; the water came rushing toward the place, and for some reason, I dove and dove and dove again into the waves and swam through the floodwaters.
Now, with the sound of the heavy-earth movers and the rushing river drowning the coyote calls and lowing cattle, I don’t dream of floods. I dream of children, playing in sun-warmed pastures, their laughter and squeals carried on the wings of warm breezes. Their shining faces, all children I have known (some I have been) peek through tall grass, their legs, well-wound springs carry them bounding over fallow rows.