rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Warming, and a Dream Fragment

All yesterday afternoon, windows flung wide, I let the cool air glide through the room and watched the accumulated motes of winter dust dance through shafts of spring-like sunlight. Though not quite balmy, the day was nevertheless a turning, like an opening of a view near the end of a wearisome journey, the desired destination at last in sight. Florid with bird song, and scented with rare but vibrant whiffs of spurge laurel, the gentle breezes wafted away the winter damp and brought tantalizing hints of the greater efflorescence to come. Soon will arrive those days as sweet and smooth as sun-warmed fruit, and the nights like exotic sherbets, chilled and fragrant, all the more savory for their brevity as they melt into earlier dawns. Spring is not even here, but anticipation is so intense I can taste it.

Following a day of such promise came a night to match, with the moon nearly full and the air alive with the sound of chorusing frogs. Winter yet claims the night, chill as it is, but even in this domain the fragrance of laurel now intrudes a reminder that the season is swiftly passing. The whispering of pines will soon be joined by the rustling of softer leaves as the oaks array themselves in the green gifts of sunlight and winter's own rains. There may yet be a few cold days and northern storms ahead, but tonight, when the moon turns full for the last time this winter, I will say farewell to the fading season. All in all, it has been a good winter here, generous with rain, un-extreme in temperature, and providing a modicum of pleasant fogs and mists. I am grateful for not having been buried in snowdrifts or having my electricity shut off. I'll remember this winter fondly, but am no less eager for spring.


Yesterday, I woke with the memory of an odd dream fragment. I was in an austere landscape of vast horizons punctuated with low mesas. I saw a brick on the ground some distance ahead of me. Realizing that I had the power of telekinesis, I drew the brick to myself. Small puffs of dust rose from its trail. Unable to levitate the brick, I bent and picked it up. One corner was chipped. I had the sudden realization that I knew this landscape, and I knew the history of this brick. I was in the world of George Herriman's Krazy Kat, and in my hand was one of the bricks which Ignatz Mouse had hurled at Krazy. I looked again at the landscape, hoping to see the familiar figures, or at least to recognize Offisa Pup's jail, but the scene swiftly faded and I woke with only this memory.


Also, I didn't post anything yesterday afternoon because I was busy reading all the drama in the lj_biz post which is linked from this news post. Enjoy. Or ignore, as the case may be. Lots of squeaking wheels!

Recent Posts from This Journal

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.