The dream of being lost is
nothing new. Over the course
of my 52yrs I’d say 99% have
been electric, charged with
low-grade fear, something or
someone in dogged pursuit.
But last night represented the
other 1% for I found myself
lost yet at ease. Still chased by
whatever but strangely at peace.
The difference, as best I can
recall, had to do with the sound of
music—”Claire de Lune”—played
pianissimo from somewhere just
up ahead of me, the tune emitting
just enough sad and lovely light
to illuminate night’s landscape.
I awoke from a different dream.