Closing windows on my desktop, I was cleaning up two days worth of clutter. Beneath three Ecto layers I found a cryptic little poem. Did I write this? I sat frowning for a few seconds. Then my eyebrows lifted my face; I had written it last night, my mind replied, but I needed to string together what facts I could recall: I had put on heavy eyelids, a light shone down the hall, metered by snoring, the laptop was too warm on my lap. A car dealership ad jostled my thoughts, Forwards, backwards, backwards. I had written this in my sleep:
I’m stop an elderly gelding
White and mellow
He is standing on a tidal flat.
A poem? Or was I dreaming? Did a TV ad filter into mysubconscience?
Did something happen to Marshmellow, the grey gelding I sold in Point Reyes? I feel compelled to search for his owner and find out.
I just turned a year older while thinking this over in my mind.
How facinating. I don’t think I’ve ever fully written in my sleep but I do know that there are times where I’ll write something before bed, or first thing in the morning, and won’t recognize it a few days later.
Pt. Reyes? Horses? I grew up in Santa Rosa! I loved hiking in point reyes. And horses–let’s make a deal, whoever has a horse next will get a visit from the other one. Some of my fondest memories are riding horse bareback. I’m not that great at riding, but I love it!
That’s a DEAL!
I’m thinking that you will be the first of us to have livestock anytime soon, with those rolling meadows and (even better) the day-trader husband! LOL but I’ll eventually own again, too 🙂