Dream Life

From some writing craft book: "No one wants to read your character's dreams." 

I wonder. 

I woke up this morning exhausted, not quite knowing where or when I was.

A horse is led into a strange, country-style living room. Big red fellow, sturdy and calm, but watchful. I can tell he will not suffer a fool. No saddle and only a rope halter. 

I am expected to ride this animal on some kind of journey and I look around the room for a chair to stand on. He's as still as a rock wall as I mount efficiently and seat myself forward over his front legs and not in the middle of his back because the thought of doing that makes my own back hurt. 

There is no saddle or blanket and I can feel his living heat right through my jeans. He is wide and my hips already hurt. 

Then the person who led the horse in handed a plate of hot food up to me. The horse shifts from foot to foot and he sways from side to side just enough to make my stomach turn over. 

On the plate, a small slab of meat and a pile of fettuccini all of it swimming in a sauce redolent of red wine. "Horsemeat," she said, cheerily. Big Red heaved a deep sigh and I pass the plate back down to her. 

This is what I get for following the Mongol Derby. 

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I'm hoping to have a dyefest in the next few days, but I really need the tent set back up. 

I wait patiently for that help. Cloth and thread are ready. 

I need to think about color for a bit.

This never gets old.

That's Rocky peeking out. Dennis taking his ease. 

A huge limb from the water oak on the island fell across the yard yesterday. You can see it's shadow in the foreground of this picture from a few days back.

I don't know whether it fell on its own or the cable guys knocked it down on purpose. It's clearly very dead and there are more up there like it.. It missed my car by a few feet.