Bending their necks to sing to the sky.
White feathers floating on green water,
Red feet pushing against clear waves.
--Luo Bin Wang
Good morning, M. Hazel!
Wow. 38 weeks! How are you feeling about making an appearance soon? We are officially go for launch.
I have too many stories about birds. Today, though, a different spin on bird stories.
During a game of Words With Friends (a Scrabble ripoff game that is an obsession of mine--words!!!), a friend of mine sent me a text, "My dream last night . . . you and I were sitting in a subway tunnel watching the trains fly by. All the while, you were pregnant and fully clothed in swan feathers; we talked of issues concerning having a baby. Your hair was a bright, deep red. Even though it was a dream, it was good to see you."
Dreams are so potent. Maybe they are just the brain's way of tying up loose ends, or rummaging through the trash out of boredom. But maybe they go a little deeper. Maybe some of them are filled with a little magic. Although Freud gets a lot of flack (even from me), I love psychoanalytic thought and interpretation. The unconscious mind becomes the place from which our intuition emerges.
My goal here isn't to go too deeply into dream analysis, but simply to acknowledge the beauty of dreaming, and, especially, the beauty of that potent dream.
And so, a fast little doodle for you:
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