Woke up cold, the kind of cold where you calculate how much colder you'll get, and how long it will take to recover your heat if you get out of bed for another blanket/sweater/earmuffs/ultra-loft-goose-down-mummy-bag. I swear, even my teeth were cold. So I did one of those wrap-myself-around-myself tricks, went all-pretzel on myself. Folded and refolded, trying to trap pockets of warmth. The rain lashing the roof on my attic room.
But waking up -- however chilled -- from a good dream, is worth whatever effort it takes to gather a unit of heat. I know -- other people's dream are the stuff of yawns, but bear with me, because it really is relevant (and I'll be brief):
I've been visited by variations on the same dream for 37 years: I'm in my vegetable garden in the yard of my childhood home, and with generally considerable alarm, realize that I've neglected it, and it's on the verge of drying up, wherein I frantically go to work watering, weeding, propping and tending. But last night, although I had indeed neglected it, it was bursting with life, overflowing its borders -- petal and leaf and fully-fleshed fruit abounded. (There was the odd detail of the coffee pot plugged into a fencepost but sometimes a coffee pot is just a coffee pot.)
At the back side of the garden was a slight slope where I'd planted rows of six varieties of corn, and each variety had a different color foliage, and there was a slight breeze, so there was this lovely sinuous silky movement as the breeze passed through, and I thought: I have to take a picture of this for my blog!
If only my iPhone had a Dream-Camera App.
Chattering teeth, and a chuckle upon waking.