As soon as I got home from Wales, my dreams began to change. Since my mother died, I hadn't dreamt of her, but now I started to do so. The dreams weren't sad or anything out of the ordinary, she was just in them. I could remember the dreams vividly but there didn't seem to be any real significance to any of them. Then they stopped.
Then I dreamt of trees.
I walked out of a house, leaving people inside. I held the screen door to keep it from slamming. The porch was made of wide boards, once having been painted, now peeling yet still sturdy. The edges of the boards were unfinished, some with jagged places, others worn smooth. I didn't go down the steps but if I had, my feet would have felt ancient rocks full of fossils. The yard was dirt with patches of green grass, dogs, cats, chickens ambling about.
Looking straight from the porch I could see a stand of trees, in full leaf, green, lush. The sky was blue, deep blue, with a few white clouds, a breeze blowing.
As I watched the trees, the leaves began to change, although nothing else changed around them. The trunk and branches of the trees stayed the same. The leaves first turned white, like icy particles in the shape of summer leaves, a light began to come from them, not through them or around them but from them. The white turned to a translucent silver, continuing to give light.
The dream comes to me all the time, day and night, awake and asleep. I like for it to appear. It makes me happy. I don't know where it takes place but it makes me think of Wales. I know there is a connection , I may never know exactly but then, I might one day.
