I've been limping by with my blog lately. Have you noticed, whoever you are? Sorry. It doesn't mean I haven't been thinking lots of deep and interesting thoughts, it's just that my time last week was not exactly as much my own as it normally is. I really am a selfish girl. But I'll share all of the marvels that live in my mind a bit further down the line because my dreams, well, they bear immediate-as-possible recording, due to their downright hilarious revelations and sometimes clairvoyant natures. Oh dreams, you are so silly. Last night's/this morning's (never can tell) was as vivid as any I've had in the recent past. Just too good to be true. Which is funny, because, uh, it's not true. At least not yet. (BE YE WARNED, dear reader: this may be the most saccharine and sappy of all of my writings, EVER. But when a girl has a dream like this, she owes it to herself to write it down and revel for a while.)
I wore a simple, white linen shift dress and my feet were bare. I'm pretty certain that I was getting ready for church at mom and dad's house. There was a knock at the door and I heard dad answer from the bathroom where I was pinning my hair back with a small blue barrette. My love! he was at the door. I heard the two men speaking in hushed tones and couldn't determine what was being said. He left. I was sad. I went to church and was about to walk inside when an old white Volvo -- maybe a late seventies vintage -- pulled up. Here he was, slamming it into park, quickly leaning his able, sturdy shoulder into the door, getting out of the driver's side and rushing to me, taking my arm and smiling, revealing dimples I could swim inside. His eyes flashed and sparkled against the most alarmingly cerulean sky. Almost the color of pure cyan ink. The hour was early, so early that the sun was just peeking up from the horizon when we made our getaway. He was stealing me from church.
There was a sunlit interval in the car where the wind blew my hair and we laughed from our bellies and music played. There was that kind of light that comes in sideways and casts the most fiery, golden-hued glow. It was the truest meaning of the term "dream sequence," and mine puts the cinematic sort to shame.
Suddenly we were standing at a rough-hewn log fence, knee high in the dewy grass. It was the only thing standing between us and a verdant, blue-green field dotted by several of the purest white llamas. (!?) Yes, llamas. They shuddered dramatically to shake off the morning dew, and the flights of their downy fuzz mingled with that of the dandelions, just set free at the prompting of a breeze. I recall that my love's face* filled my vision, his earnest smile was as sweet and bright as the snowy white llamas and the dandelions and the day's first, most intense light. We walked along the fence and stopped at a particularly grey, lichen-covered post where he tenderly held my hands in his and professed his wild and constant love, unfettered, deep as a spring. The llamas stared. The sun paused in her course. I said yes.
He gave me a bundle of cotton blossoms, touched my hair and kissed my cheek, just below my left eye. He lingered near to that area just below my chin where no one ever visits, his breath warm and dear on my skin. We smiled with a knowing that I've never known. As we launched our whitewashed aluminum canoe and the water trickled across my toes, I realized my feet were still bare.
*Upon waking, I had the distinct sense that this person really exists...it's just that I have never met him.
....see? I told you so.