It wasn’t a sweet dream, though it started that way.  I was on a hill, looking down towards a lazy river.  The breeze blew through my hair.

Way in the distance I saw a tiny red object … moving.  Slowly I realized it was heading straight to me.  A golf cart, with someone waving their arm.  Closer.  It was a man waving, and yelling.  He had a passenger.

And now screeching to a stop in front of me.  Shouting in a language I didn’t know.  The passenger shoved me to the ground.  He reached towards my chest with what looked like two walkie-talkies, each with an antenna.  He put the tips of the antennas together and I felt a little jolt.

The angry man made a twisting motion with his hand and his assistant reached for the dial …

I woke up, sweat pouring

I was terrified.  How can a dream be so detailed, so real?  It was 3:00 am this morning.  Go back to sleep?  To be murdered?  No!

So I lay there, wondering if I’d locked the door.  The minutes dribbled on.  But eventually my eyes closed and I was gone once more.

The floor was grey marble … so smooth.  In the middle of the room stood a black grand piano, shining.  On either side hung a bear rug, with the heads dangling near the floor.  Where was I?  No fear this time, just an immense “not knowing”.

I never found out, since my eyes sprang open again.  On my back, all spread out on a moist bed.  Lost in the night.

And then …

Walking towards me was an old friend from the 1970’s – Kath Moors.  She was young, and holding the hands of a little girl and boy, who I knew right away were her grandchildren.  Kath was smiling at me and the kids were bouncing along.

Then one more waking.  And after … imageless sleep for the rest of the night.

***

It’s morning

I’m all worn out

Most likely my day won’t be about electric shocks, grand pianos and Kath