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Dream Diary

The last couple of nights have been loaded with dreams, about triangular UFOs and strange conversations I was bid never to forget, only to do so instantly on waking.

But last night's dream was so intensely vivid, I will record it.

I was house sitting for my aunt, a house she never had in real life, perched beside a river. The river had steep sides and enormously high banks, and carved into them, between tree roots, were holes and niches, in which sat statues, figurines, carvings...a great storm came, the river rose under the rain and swept two large pieces away, one a giant wooden statue of a man, crudely wrought and painted but very impressive, the other, a sculpture I can't recall clearly.

I followed the pieces, on land when I could, along stepping stones in the water when I had to, determined to get the pieces back for my aunt. I found a strange place of shallows with flotsam and jetsam drifting or stuck in the sands.

Among them was a magnificent ships prow with a mermaid on it. It occurred to me that I could take this back, but at the time I was sure I should find my aunt's belongings.

I was certain, almost to the point of remembering having been there, that there was a place down the river where all this stuff came to a halt, where it washed up or was dredged ashore. But when I asked the inhabitants of the riverside houses, they none of them had heard of such a place. I found myself looking at papers, chalk crayon pictures of my aunt's afghan hound, long dead now, and other pictures, including quite a few dogs. The more I looked the prettier the details were, little books and leaves and flowers,some of them nearly lost in the landscapes. I was mystified to realise that I was the artist.

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