Some mornings I wake up with a wisp of a dream still hanging on. Pulling me back into a scene from long ago or a time that never even happened. It pulls and I pull back and eventually wakefulness wins.
This morning I woke to rain. Not thick sheets of it. But a soft rain that made the leaves on the plants glisten out on the patio.
Then the clouds parted and the sun came out and both the morning and I were in full wakefulness mode.
I tend to the pets. Feed them. Give Charlie his morning medication. Make myself a quick breakfast and brew my one cup of coffee for the day.
I sit and look about me. Over 7 years I’ve lived here. That’s probably the longest I’ve lived anywhere since I was a child. And even then never more than a dozen years did I spend in one place.
I’ve taken many of those same nighttime dreams along with me through the years and places I’ve lived. As though they set up shop in my brain and will never leave me.
And the years pass by.
One day you wake up and face what seems to be an altogether different person in the bathroom mirror. A person who has awakened from all kinds of dreams. And sometimes the same ones over and over again.
But older. With lines accentuating your features. Softening your face.
Probably the dreams are embedded so deeply into your psyche that you won’t ever hold onto them long enough to work them out. You wake up and back they go into the place from which they came.
Like a balloon tethered to a string, whatever won’t let go of you bounces in and out of your nighttime dreams. You have to hope that one day you’ll be able to see clearly what these dreams have been trying all along to tell you.
Or maybe the string will just escape the fingers holding onto it. And lift up higher and higher into the air until the blue sky swallows it up.
And you’re finally free of it.