A young man, of sixteen or seventeen
and a stranger to me, leads me to a table, atop which is a curious
arrangement of small objects, seemingly of a scientific nature. “If
I die,” he says quietly, and with the utmost reverence for his
work, “I want you to have them.” He looks at me, to be sure I
understand.
Yes, I think, some things,
like transparent bells with tiny copper gears inside.
And hummingbirds —
do they not have names they forget to tell?
18 comments:
you travel far in the wee hours my friend.
can this to be somthings like we must to carry on some important things and toughts of other people?
Wonderful! In a dream about remembering (a legacy), your hummingbirds have names they forget to tell. DId I ever tell you I envy your psychic symmetry?
Battered wings, Robert.
I wonder, Laura. Maybe so.
If you did, Joe, the hummingbirds have forgotten that as well. Did I ever tell you they find nectar in your words?
I admire your power of recall, William. A really nice image...
Thanks, Jonathan. That’s just it — this is only part of the dream; there was more to it that I can’t remember. But I almost can, if that makes any sense.
Maybe you will be shown the machine again, in one form or another. A lovely thing to read about...
Thanks, Peter. Maybe I’ll even find myself inside it.
Even in your dreams you are writing stories, my dear friend :)
Beautiful~~~
Thanks very much, Jan. It’s a strange life, to be sure. But I’d miss these night-visits if they decided to pass me by.
what a wonderful title... one we can all relate to... and then the dream itself, well that is like opening a beautifully wrapped box and realising the present inside was transient and had escaped leaving only an after image....
thank you for this William.
r.
Thank you, Rahina. Your lovely description might also be applied to this life.
I envy this ability to keep even the fragments of dreams from fading into the jumbled thoughts of waking up.
Thanks, Anthony. To be sure, I’m not always successful; and often enough they do become jumbled. That said, I think habit is also a part of saving them before they slip away.
I like what Jan said. Hint, hint, William, this sounds like the opening scene to a great novel, and written by you it would be pretty cool stuff! Deb
Thanks, Deb! Hmm... only two or three hundred pages to go... I think I’ll sleep on it.
You create such a lovely scene in such a small space. Beautiful writing.
Lurid, thanks very much.
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