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Dream 12-11-15

December 11, 2015

There was a small, clay planter with flowering plants that were doing well. It needed to be weeded, but the flowers were reseeding themselves. In a lawn of thick, soft grass that was much like the yard of the the house that I grew up in, rolling down to a wooded creek (and remember, that was the tiny home of a young, working class, white family in a small Midwestern city, aspiring, realistically as it turned out, to become middle class—in an American economy like today’s we wouldn’t even have dreamed of it) there were lots of little kids playing. They were finding very young bunnies, who were thriving on affection. At night we would take the kids down to the creek bank, where a large snapping turtle with a long tale slept, mostly, in the mud. When the light from our flash lights woke it, we fed it a hunk of roasted chicken.  It looked sleepily fierce, or fiercely sleepy.

From → dreams, Uncategorized

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