A dream of fish

Do you remember your dreams? Mostly I have only garbled memories, which fade quickly. But sometimes, I wake up and think Wow! Where did that dream come from? And it stays in my mind for days afterwards, and leaves a trace that lasts for years.

I had one of those this morning. We’ve just been through a string of hot days and warm nights, when the temperature has not dropped below about 23 centigrade. The only way I can sleep is if I have a fan blowing on my face. The garden is wilting, and by midday I”ve closed all the blinds and curtains to shut out the glare. Storms have promised but disappeared. It’s been the full moon at night too, so sleep has been fitful. Sometimes I’ve woken during the night, listening to the hum of my small desk fan on a table near the head of my bed, and mistaken the noise for rain. Rain has been a dream, a wish, a promise, fading with consciousness.

This morning I could sleep in, and let myself go back to sleep after stirring when it became light,and as I listened to the footfalls of the friendly heffalump upstairs as she got ready for work, I drifted into a dream. The beginnings of the dream are lost. The last chapter, before I woke, had me lying on a bed beside a river. I let my hand trail in the water that flowed past, a soft translucent young green, like jelly, wobbly and wavy, not set properly. I saw many fish swimming below the surface. They were not ‘real’ fish; they were strange shapes, and some were patchwork, some embroidered in different textures. Then the two worlds met. Me, looking into the river, and them, in the river; one approached the edge, and poked its rounded head out, close to my dangling hand. It let me stroke it. Another smaller one, the same shape, did the same. Then a rounded one like Humpty Dumpty coasted up, bobbed its head out — it had one eye in the centre of its forehead, and one at the side which was lidded, not opened — and reached out a little spindly arm, with a tiny hand on the end, and touched my hand.

I woke in wonder, feeling very peaceful and happy.

Do you dream? Do you remember your dreams?

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4 Comments

Filed under a dream to remember

4 responses to “A dream of fish

  1. It’s nice to dream and then wake peaceful and happy……I tend to have very odd dreams if I take cold medication…..otherwise, I don’t remember them much.

    • I’m sure they stay with us somehow, though, and infuse our waking hours. We enter a different world in sleep, where nothing is the same, and all sorts of bizarre and sometimes absurd things happen. I love sleeping, for that reason, and don’t feel I”ve slept well unless I dream

  2. I dream constantly but remember very little. This is an improvement because I used to remember nothing. For years my father maintained he didn’t dream at all but finally—and this was quite an achievement—gave in an admitted that he probably did dream but simply couldn’t recall them. You might find the site Annandale Dream Gazette interesting; it’s a site where writers can record their dreams. Elisabeth Hanscombe, who I see in your blog roll, has many entries and I even have a cameo in one apparently.

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