11/15/2010

My dreams last night were muddled and slow-moving.  I didn't really feel rested when I woke up.


In the first dream sequence, I was with my former classmates (I now homeschool) on a walk down to the creek near the school.  I was traveling in a solitary fashion, as is my wont on such trips, when I happened upon a pond-like widening and harbor of the creek, where a narrow, arched bridge crossed the water that moved as sluggishly as my thoughts.  It had grass growing along the top of it.  Standing atop the bridge was a man.  He looked vaguely Arthurian, with a sword at this hip, chain mail gauntlets, a leather helmet and a blue and white overcoat belted over the rest of his mail.  Sometimes when I looked at him, he would appear as a centaur with the same human torso and the silky, chestnut-colored hindquarters of a horse.
We struck up a friendly conversation, I inquiring as to whether or not I was permitted to cross the bridge, he responding that no, the bridge was not mine to be crossed yet, and wasn't my class waiting for me and wondering where I was at the next bridge?  I acknowledged that this was probably the case and turned to leave.  When I reached the undergrowth of the woods surrounding the creek, I turned to wave to the knight/centaur and give him my thanks for his guidance, but was brought up short by the twang of a bowstring, the hiss of an arrow cleaving air, and the thunk and finality of that arrowhead embedding itself in the chest of the centaur, piercing his kindly heard and driving the breath out of him.  I rushed to the centaur and tried to help him, but my efforts were futile and the dream slid into blackness.


Only moments later, the dream returned, but  this time, I was hiking through the woods with my class and kidding around with my classmates as any other teenager would.  In this scenario, I seemed to be both watching myself from across the river and laughing with my friends on the other side.
In due time, we came to the cove and the bridge where the centaur was standing, although neither my teachers or classmates had been able to see it before.  We prepared to cross the bridge, single file, and the centaur spun around and fled into the hilly, sun drenched portion of the woods that dominated the other side of the creek.  After I was across the bridge, I tried to find him, but ended up becoming hopelessly lost in the myriad tunnels of tall berry bushes that snaked along, around and in-between the hills and trees.  I sat, alone, on the sunny crown of a hill, surrounded by berry bushes, unsure of which way to take before the rest of the dream disappeared like smoke.