This winter has been unusually mild. The Bradford pear is budding, the crocuses and snowdrops have emerged around the neighborhood, and my two stalwart parsley plants never really died. (See picture below.) My subconscious has also been contemplating the aberrant weather; a few nights ago I dreamt I was surveying my vegetable garden. Last year’s plants had re-seeded themselves and emerged into bountiful bushes in the winter sun. There were dozens of ripe tomatoes, three varieties of basil, and rows of lettuces. How odd, I thought … but how delightful! In the morning, I peered out the window and the two little beds were still wearing their oak leaf covering.
I taught Stravinsky's Rite of Spring to my class last week, and I spent most of one evening listening to it and thinking about it, after which I went straight to bed. That night I had the strangest dream I've ever had: no people or events, just intense orchestral music. My dream was made of music, and it was like I was caught in this music and it was overwhelming and frightening. There should really be warnings about such things on the jewel case!
ReplyDeleteOh, my! That's what you get for listening so closely. :)
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