Dream Diary

Vivid and hectic: A young man came bursting into a room I was in; it was my room, though the outside room adjoined it. He dashed in, there were papers everywhere, he apologised and another young man ran in. They ran out. I cried and cried and the police comforted me, but I was afraid. Still I gathered up some papers, important ones from long ago. Everyone was trying to help, but I couldn't stop crying.

A good friend of mine brought me two books on initiation, one by Dion Fortune. It's the same chum who told me I would die in the Spring, so clearly my psyche has singled him out. Even as I write this, I understand why; in real life he has a tattoo with symbols that mean 'Heavenly Messenger.'

Cut to a room by the sea; larians and I had a son who we had taught to swim underwater holding his breath for a long time. We watched him go down to the sea; he was about 15. He went under the water and stayed there for so long I panicked and asked http://larians to go get him. He went, but our son emerged from the water before my partner reached him. He was perfectly OK.

Cut to Dr Who on the top of a double decker bus. A strange object bounced along the bus.

'In my universe, there are turnips!' Yelled the doctor. Beside him appeared a little man in a long stripey hat. The Dr looked at him. 'In my universe there are also magic elves,' he said.

Some of this must be anxiety; I will be on my own in the house tonight, and while consciously I feel all right with that, perhaps on another level there may be misgivings. Dr Who, turnips, and magic elves...clearly my gibberish head still works fine.

The Witch In Winter

Yesterday was hard work in the wood. Thursday's winds brought down a chunk of sycamore so huge we thought it was an entire tree. Turned out it was just a mahoosive branch weakened by city bark and carrying a lot of ivy. It had come down right on the path, so we had to sort it without delay. The trunk was too big to shift to either side of the path, so three of us spent the whole day with saws, crow bars etc trying to chop and lop until it was light enough to lift. When we realised that this was never going to happen, we surrendered and used axe power.

I am rubbish with an axe. Admittedly I am also rubbish with saws, but given enough time saws will give results. All the axe did at first was bounce back at me alarmingly. I had more luck sitting on the log to add pressure, at which point an audible crack resounded throughout the tree, and the weakened wood cracked entirely. Who needs an axe with an arse like that?

It was cold when I came home, so I dug the remains of one pheasant out of the bin, and left it feathers and all for the foxes. Not a quill was left this morning. Tonight, the other will go out there too.

Creatively I am not quite dead: I made this earlier. Having no delusions of ability I can enjoy it without needing it to be good, a problem I am currently suffering with my writing.

http://smokingboot.tumblr.com/post/69681326570/the-witch-in-winter