This was a dream that made me stronger, more at peace with the world, and absolutely okay with the thought that summer will return someday. It also made me write a lot.
I tucked a strand of hair in place, watching carefully in
the bathroom mirror that snowy morning, and strangely enough suddenly remembered
what I had dreamed the night before.
I had dreamed of a young boy. He was lovely, a little
prince, but he was going to die. So we ran away. We ran and ran, laughing. We
ran through a field, towards something. I wasn’t sure what it was, but we were
both looking for it. We ran past seasons. Snow around our feet, then autumn
leaves, then we could see to the sides of our path growing things; strawberries, lettuce, radishes, some kind of vine, and finally up ahead, corn.
With the sight of the corn came a sense of relief, and a
renewed purpose. That was where we were supposed to go. We entered the rows,
running, laughing anew at the lovely absurdity of rows of corn growing up
alongside you as you ran.
Apparently, not only were we running through seasons, we
were running through weather. It was windy, then sunny, then a curtain of steady rain. We were
through that one in a flash. Stop! He said, Let’s go back. So we did, and lay
down in the rain shower on the warm, wet dirt, and soaked it all in. There was
all through us and around us the wonder, the joy, of a much-needed summer rain.
We gathered every particle of beauty into our silence, and kept it deep within
us. We no longer needed to go anywhere.
We had been running to give him experiences or perhaps
memories before he disappeared, and we had accomplished that, reached the
height of it, in the rain shower. We were done. We lay there, water droplets tracing down our faces like tears, and talked to each
other.
I don’t remember how he left. My last memory of him is how
red his lips looked in the gray of rain, against the brown of crumbly dirt, and surrounded by the green of
strong young corn.
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