Probably any piece of writing that begins with “I had a dream last night…” should best be left in the dreamer’s journal. But the dream I had a few nights ago stayed with me and, in writing about it in my journal the next morning, reawakened something I’ve been missing in my daily life.
In the dream, we were wandering around a small town like Asheville or Idyllwild or another artsy community made up of sweet boutiques, cool cafes, and at least one small, well-stocked bookstore, and I noticed no one was wearing a mask. Suddenly guilt-stricken, I covered my nose and mouth with one hand, ducked my head and exclaimed, “Oh, I’m so sorry, so sorry. I forgot my mask.”
“Never mind” a fellow said. “We don’t need masks here. There’s no disease. We’re all safe.”