With all this frost and cold about, you would think I would dream of reindeer,
fields of snow and blue tinted morning walks...
Instead I dreamt of March.
Not just any March, but March in Ireland.
Spring coming, on The Aran's.
The thatch creeping in amongst my stardust...
Strange how dreams come to be...
Stored away in quiet corners of your subconscious,
only to be awakened by a random thought, or in my case, a voice on the phone from Dublin.
My dreams have bits of stone in them...
Switching to words and signs...
Somehow streets in Dublin pop into view...
Roads with daughters and fathers...
The countryside flying by through the window of a train...
this is how dreams feel...spliced bits of time and place...
And then I'm transported to the most lovely spot I know...
The Lakes of Killarney...
And the rough Dingle coastline...
These bits of memory embedded deep into my soul.
I often think...
This is where my heart lies, my roots began here and still have a hold in the ground.
Fortunately for me, these dreams come often and magically take me to these places.
