Monday, January 13, 2014

As many hounds


As many hounds as could squeeze in — friendly, agreeable hounds, of whitish-tan persuasion and loving the water — so eager to be first to the chase; and then at once they were off and out and dripping on the bank, where they were called to halt by their kindly master; who, taking one by the neck, different from the others, shaggy and brown with a heavily whiskered, almost human face, addressed the animal with such affection that all the others were glad — when, all of a sudden, the scene changed, and I was standing beside an orange tree behind my childhood home, and the orange tree was laden with bright-ripe fruit, and had grown to at least twice its former size — such was my joy, and so my joy remains.



2 comments:

Joseph Hutchison said...

I miss the great gift of remembering dreams, now that I'm in a long lull. I dream, I know I've dreamt, but most days wake without remembering. It's happened before, for no reason I can put my finger on. Your prose poem makes me anxious to receive that gift again! Beautiful....

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Joe. And thank goodness such mysteries remain.