This is what I want: “Let your dreams be bigger than your fears & your actions louder than your words…”
The day begins with an enthusiastic, rhythmic chirp outside my window, wind breathing sleepy and deep through tall pines, and the ting of rigging as sunrise gently rolls the still-darkened harbor toward its morning routine. In my dreams, it is always early summer in the morning, full with dewy beginnings.
Anything can happen; I accept what comes and cook up good things from every ingredient presented. Or, instead, I may opt to stretch and tuck, and burrow deeper under the quilt until sunrise gilds the curtain’s edge, while the cat purrs and snuggles in, content with shared warmth in lieu of a timely breakfast.
Rain or shine, I stroll the quarter mile to the harbor town where, after half a decade of working alongside the townspeople and doing no harm, I’ve been accepted as part of the community.
There’s a festival on this day, which always draws out-of-towners, and they’d like a volunteer to herd and hush young performers, provide first-aid, and quell costume emergencies. After a lifetime of specialization and technology, planning and premeditating, it’s good to simply be available and calmly reactive.
Afternoon stretches into quiet evening as outsiders either leave or settle in for their few nights in Paradise. A small group of the residents, myself included, gather at the waterhole for a glass of cool, and firm up plans for a weekend road trip to the nearest city center: special exhibit at the art museum, and Leo Kottke at a not-widely-advertised venue.
I stop off at the grocer’s to pick up my portion of the morning’s catch, wrapped in stiff white paper and set to one side in the glass-windowed ‘fridge. Add to that fresh tomatoes and cukes, to be tossed with balsamic, dill, and a touch of olive oil. The cat will be glad for the rich, dark flesh just under the surface of rainbow-streaked skin and scales. I’ll feast on the remainder in a hand-thrown bowl, a scant jelly jar of chablis glistening in the twilight.
Writing and moonrise fill the evening. Rain is predicted for the morrow--perfect for research and editing. No particular deadline; the project mostly drives itself, and my track record is good enough that my agent/publisher leaves me alone. I’d been fortunate to remain employed and reasonably healthy until I made the switch, and hadn’t added the extra burden of trying to explain myself and get anyone’s blessing to revise my life.
To my wonderment, no one seems surprised.
Liz Husebye Hartmann
Jules’ TWE Challenge: For this week’s prompt I actually want you to write about your dreams in prose or poetry. This can be inspiration that cane from a dream, Your dream for yourself, for another.
A dream for a few or the entire world ...your choice and there is a pretty broad realm it covers.