Dream 84

4:43 am. Lately, I've been quite out of sorts. No energy – like the aftermath of a dose of the flu.

Not two hours ago, I awoke with limbs of jelly, dragging myself out of bed, and staggering to the stable door to gulp the cold, salty, dark air into my lungs.

I made a cup of tea, and put on a podcast of a Reith lecture to lull myself back to sleep. Soon I found myself walking across a dusty town Square.

She came towards me, my heart stopped beating as the sun beat on my neck, and our eyes met in an awkward ‘can't avoid this’ kind of way.

I had to speak – how are you?

I'm fine,

I scrabbled in my word bank for how to reply. We looked at each other, and all the past difficulties melted into a renewed passion.

We hugged, tentatively at first, then tighter, and tighter, oblivious to the swirling crowds around us.

There was nowhere to go. We were rooted in the moment.

Her hair was blacker than I remembered, she seemed taller, and her skin was smooth and tanned. Her red dress reminded me of the one I'd seen before – of course, the one in ‘Simon's pact’.

With that realisation came the call to wake. And with it the figure of renewal from Hebe – daughter of Zeus.