The other night I dreamed I was at a friend's house helping him choose a therapist from among a crowd of therapists, who were sharing psychological insight and making toast. We weeded out those who made toast with hard crust. I really liked one named Skye Blue, though he hadn't made toast yet. "He made sense to me," I said, "and if he had made toast I'm sure it would not have been hard." I thought Skye Blue should be my therapist some day, so I memorized his name by picturing a little man in blue nestled in my paint tin. Then I heard the theme song from Sesame Street. My husband had set his phone alarm to remind him to go to dinner at 6:15, but he had set it for AM. How thick and heavy my eyelids felt, how warm and deep the bed. I laughed about Sesame Street and crusty toast. I did not get out of bed.
And here is a colored pencil drawing that feels like something from a dream, maybe a dream of Tolkien or George MacDonald: twin trees growing from a pearl of light in a gazing pool. I did it awhile ago when I was obsessed with trees and flowers growing in circles of water or sky. The stones are from Lucy's collection of Lake Michigan beach pebbles.