Recent dreams containing anvil

1697 - There is a feeling blackness and desolation where once productivity and sense of community took place. “When I arrived, windows were closed up; tapestries covering windows. You could tell there was pillaging and evacuation with the arrival of this new emerging power. Where when I arrived, it was flourishing. The thick walled gates have been damaged. When it once smelled earthy, now is stench and filth. Now it is just a castle in the middle of nowhere with occasional lost chicken or animals running loose. 1697 KRK – ah, a stoney sectional-multi level house surrounded by cypress and pale yellow roses. The cliff drops off to one side, sloping down into the water. Deep blue water. The furniture here is not as thick and woodsy as (Lika castle) but more primitive of animal skin. There is a window that looks out into the water. Sun shines through it! Terraces looking out over cliffs. There is a small kitchen, where of, course, I love to spend time. Herbs grow in windows, and bouganvilla in pots. I don’t really feel cold, but love the smell of wood burning in a stove. When we arrived, walls were cracked and there were no potted plants of color. There is a little notch of a private cove were we dock a wooden boat. Sometimes at night, we would take a lantern and fish for silver fish. They are drawn to the light. We keep a mule for carrying provisions up. A goat. Some chickens, some pigs. Our diet is mostly fish and vegetables, cheese I make. You make cheese? I laugh, yes. Cook has been with me a long time. She has been my right and left angel wings. Lost her husband about five years ago, all knotty fingered from years of hard hard work. Never a complaint. You need to remember that we have to be discreet, in hiding. No music. No friends. Little laughter. A lot of contemplation. A time to tell my story. Sometimes, my eyes are so weighed down with the darkness of death. Here I don’t have to dress in accordance with the social status of my relations.

I don't remember much, but I do recall that I was sitting in a restaurant with Carolyn, my TA from my queer theory course. It's fuzzy, but I feel like we were talking, laughing, drinking red wine. All of a sudden our conversation seemed to turn serious. Then, out of nowhere we're outside, walking with my professor behind the two of us. My arm is around Carolyn (either affectionately or because she is cold) and we start talking about snow. Everything around us is stark white--the houses, the mailboxes, covered in snow. So, I reach down to make a snowball to throw at her, and the snow, which was once soft-looking, turns out to be hard packing-snow. I try to make a snowball, but I can't, instead grabbing a huge chunk of snow that looks like an anvil, and just stare at it for some time before making a snowball and throwing at her. Meanwhile, she's running away from the snow, laughing, screeching, and the snow ball just seems to follow her into oblivion, ever moving on a straight line.

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