It was starting to rain (oh, I wish!) and I darted into a doorway as the door opened and a woman showed me inside.
Down two flights of steep, narrow stairs I went – sometimes in the body, sometimes looking at the body from a point about 3 feet behind the back of the head- into a smallish room apparently carved straight into the rock.
The floor was lightly rubble-strewn and a broken television stood in a corner. A further door led off at one end, into a bedroom, likewise with rock walls, although the curtains were long and in good condition. The floor of this room was also disreputable, showing marks where a single bed had once stood. A fireplace at one side of the room hadn’t been used in years, but showed signs of being in good repair.
I woke from this dream knowing without a shred of doubt that this was not one of mine.
Whose it was, I’m still working on.
Enjoy the centrepoint of Spring, or Autumn, wherever you are.