Welcome to what I like to call the very fascinating and enlightening interpretation of my dream, by me. Not interpretation as much as a realization. Everyone asleep yet? Then I'll continue. A little over a week ago I had a vivid dream that I was able to recall in great detail. So vivid that the images are still hanging around in my head. Picture an elderly couple seated on a porch, it's mostly dark, just after sunset. The woman is sitting in a wicker chair with cushions in the corner, her bare feet are up on a hassock and she's holding a glass of iced tea. She has white hair pulled back in a bun and a few strands are floating free in the breeze. She's leaning back and comfortable and smiling at the man. He is seated across from her on a weathered bench. The man is wearing a whiter than white shirt that almost glows against the darkness, he is playing a guitar and singing to her. His voice is a bit wavering but clear and true. They are so happy, it's palpable. She is his audience of one. It seems as though this is their nightly routine, and has been for years. I didn't recognize either of them as someone I knew. At first I thought it might be a future me. But then it occurred to me that it was my parents. In some sort of parallel universe where they stayed together and grew old together. And I thought, if there is a heaven, and heaven is located in a comfortable chair on a porch in eternal summer twilight, I can't think of a better place for Mom to be.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
While You Were Sleeping...
Welcome to what I like to call the very fascinating and enlightening interpretation of my dream, by me. Not interpretation as much as a realization. Everyone asleep yet? Then I'll continue. A little over a week ago I had a vivid dream that I was able to recall in great detail. So vivid that the images are still hanging around in my head. Picture an elderly couple seated on a porch, it's mostly dark, just after sunset. The woman is sitting in a wicker chair with cushions in the corner, her bare feet are up on a hassock and she's holding a glass of iced tea. She has white hair pulled back in a bun and a few strands are floating free in the breeze. She's leaning back and comfortable and smiling at the man. He is seated across from her on a weathered bench. The man is wearing a whiter than white shirt that almost glows against the darkness, he is playing a guitar and singing to her. His voice is a bit wavering but clear and true. They are so happy, it's palpable. She is his audience of one. It seems as though this is their nightly routine, and has been for years. I didn't recognize either of them as someone I knew. At first I thought it might be a future me. But then it occurred to me that it was my parents. In some sort of parallel universe where they stayed together and grew old together. And I thought, if there is a heaven, and heaven is located in a comfortable chair on a porch in eternal summer twilight, I can't think of a better place for Mom to be.
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