Sunday, February 8, 2009

warm weather and dreams of spring

this is too much–how can i bear to go back to the cold weather that inevitably is in store for gettysburg when today was so gloriously warm? this whole weekend, actually, was just gorgeous, and i feel very happy in how i spent my time. i got to clean my whole house, and opened all of the windows to let in the warm, clean breeze–so much nicer than the stuffy, dry air we've been having lately which no doubt is not helping to contain cold and flu germs to individuals.

then i went to target (target! target! my favorite store ever! next to ikea, anyway...) and bought a lovely new bookshelf, a wall mirror for the front hallway, and some odds and ends. nothing is so wonderful as a trip to target after having been away from it for a long time. but my trip to barnes & noble on the way home afterward was strangely disappointing. it's like there's a stagnation there, which doesn't make any sense for a bookstore.

my dreams continue to be vivid and unsusual. i think my mind is fervently wishing for spring now. there's this place that i keep going back to, in several different dreams now, and it's almost like the connecticut shore, but i can't place where it is. i stand on something like a peninsula, with wide sunny streets and cheerful shops and suburban houses, and cherry blossom trees and very green grass. in one moment i'm at the end of the peninsula, where the streets fade into blue water that stretches out across the sound. in another moment, i look again and the street keeps going where the water used to be, and i know that i'm still near the beach, but the road that reaches it is now much, much longer.

i always feel slightly dissatisfied being there, even though another part of me is always at peace, content, basking in the sunshine, and i walk around picking the nicest flowers. in my latest dream of this place, however, i am on some kind of magic carpet that lets me fly up into the cherry trees to reach the blossoms that i normally can't. it's very freeing, and yet at the same time the nicest blossoms are always just out of reach–i pick what i think are the best, and then glance just beyond my fingers and see more. the game continues until i wake up, and i don't know if i feel playful or frustrated.

No comments:

it's not just for the classroom!