Last night in a dream:
I move slowly through a bombed-out second world war town in a Sherman tank.
It is hot and stuffy inside; the driver tells me in a cheerful american drawl that I’ll get used to it. I can smell diesel, metal, sweat.
Yesterday I watched as the autumn wind caught a glittering cloud of maple samaras and sent them spinning to the ground.
Dreams and memories: intangible impressions.
In another dream I am charged by a leopard. It is close enough for me to see its wild, amber eyes. I kick out at the animal and throw myself out of bed.
My wire haired fox terrier has dreams of his own: little yelps, his small body twitching as his dog-soul runs in a dream-landscape of his own. In his dog-dream, is he chasing a cat, a lizard, a hadeda? or is his sleep disturbed by some anxiety, some half-remembered cruelty or unkind tone of voice? I can never know.
Like the spiralling samara seeds, the spiralling galaxies, man, God and the angels, even my little companion is a mystery to me.
Picture credit: A maple seed. From http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Maple-seed.jpg.