Dreaming of flying

I take it as a fine sign when on writing retreat I dream of flying. I went outside in my dream wearing pajamas and two long scarves, in search of a character from a previous novel who had come to visit. I couldn’t find him but in the process of looking discovered that I could fly. Off I went, using the scarves as sails, or wings, and then one scarf got caught up in the wind and I let go. I could still fly, and practiced with the remaining scarf, learning to steer with my feet and the direction of my shoulders, learning that even intent was often enough to take me exactly where I wanted to go.

Although I no longer needed the scarves, I wanted the one I had let go of back and I swooped down and grabbed it, as agile and accurate as a diving bird.

Today I’m writing a new chapter that will be the final POV chapter for a flawed but beloved character. I think I have to fly to write it, and swoop down when needed to grasp that piece of purple wool that is perhaps the core of who he is.

The Perquimans River is a shimmering companion to this work. Last night I carried the umbrella to the dock and swept the fallen evergreen needles away and cleaned up a spilled greasy candle mess that defies my imagination as to what it actually is. Then we took drinks to the dock and told stories that should all be essays and watched the sun set.

Today birds are flying along the river calling and I’ve managed to have two coffees and overnight oats and take a shower and get dressed and visit with dear women writers. Now it’s time to sit down and take on this chapter.

And with that, the huge outdoor siren/fire alarm for this little town has gone off. What an entrance to this chapter with this character.

The view from this desk

The water is shimmering beyond the foliage.

The view out my window for the next three nights...

I'm in a lovely cottage on the banks of the Perquimans River. This was sunset tonight. Here working on a new section near the end of my novel, hoping this is the final piece that puts this whole puzzle together.

I am completely smitten with this place. There's a dock and 4 kayaks and a rowboat, plus bikes and a front porch and a back porch and many nooks to sit and write. And read, and ponder.

Deep work happens here!

Stand-off: calico versus blue merle (and a November Hill weather bulletin)

Last night Baloo had his chewie and dearly wanted to curl up in his big dog bed with it and relax. I had watched a few moments before as the resident calico staked it out and then climbed in. Pixie is the most petite of our cats and she is also the fiercest when she needs to be. Baloo came to this house full of felines as a puppy and he learned quickly who the bosses are around here.

He's very much full of confidence and perhaps a little more than he needs right now but even he wasn't willing to try to shove Pixie out of her very large nest.

This is as close as he got:

Pixie was initially upright and in defensive mode but once she insured he respected her boundary she rolled over, exposed her belly, and rubbed it in his face that he had been effectively kicked out of his own bed!

And, a November Hill weather alert: it is 8:55 a.m. and 32 degrees outside! What the heck!

Yesterday was so lovely I opened the arena gate and let the pony in. He showed off his walk, trot, and canter in both directions at liberty, looks fabulous, and was a joy to play with.

A few minutes later I let Keil Bay in and oh, my. He was a galloping, bucking wild man! After a few entire arena gallops he settled down and did some of his lovely trotting and then came and insisted on his peppermint. 

The donkeys and Cody did some walking and trotting too but although they definitely wanted to come into the arena, they were not that into me telling them what to do. I deferred. What I really wanted was to see them all move and check for any issues. And to enjoy the day, which we did. 

Dreams that are in an unknown "language"

I'm not sure what else to call them. Over the course of my life I have had a series of dreams that are vivid and clear inside the dream world but upon awakening I realize there are no words in English or any other language to express them.

This morning I woke up from one of these dreams, trying to recount it, but unable to. Not because I couldn't remember it - in fact, the dream was still very vivid in my mind - but because when I tried to put words to the dream there were none.

Even the feeling of the dream didn't fit any words we use for feelings.

All that came to my mind was the feeling - not nameable - and some unknown to me characters, a sort of alphabet or math symbols or something. A visual representation in my wide awake mind of what I might write if I were to write down the dream. But again, completely not known to me in terms of what the "writing" means.

It is odd but I have become used to it. I always wonder where these dreams come from and how they happen inside my brain.

Have you had a dream like this? What do you make of it?