Months after my 37-year-old husband dies, I discover the borrowed Vivaldi album tucked among our other LPs.
All tagged dream
Months after my 37-year-old husband dies, I discover the borrowed Vivaldi album tucked among our other LPs.
“I had a dream about you,” he said. How should I reply to that?
A chunky black snake with bright yellow splotches slithered through the grass towards me. Before the damn thing could slide up my leg, I ordered myself to run.
An unusually cold Australian winter morning. The light creeps just so, momentarily tricking me into thinking I’m tucked away in my London apartment, despite the distance in years since I've lived there.
I know. I dreamt it last night. A giggling tow-headed toddler girl skipping away from me in a meadow. That’s how I knew last time.
I ventured in my thoughts to wild places, making promises to myself I knew wouldn’t see the light of day and yet, in that moment, I believed in.
The windows are wet with dawn. My windshield wipers are old and leave streaks that make me regret my attempt at clarity.
An eerie whirring rises from the lake, drawing us closer. Woolly tuques pulled low over our foreheads, my husband and I shuffle down the snow-covered path toward the shore.