Walking the Path

It does not look like him, but it is.  I know this instinctively, but also because even he comments on how different he looks now.

Such are dreams.

I can’t place the location.  It doesn’t seem familiar.

There is a path of green – bright green, like new grass or maybe moss – maybe 10-20 feet across.

To the left is – something.  A wall maybe, or a fence.  Something that sets this area apart.  My waking self is not sure, what it is or what lies beyond it.  My dreaming self does not seem curious about this, so either knows or does not care.

To the right, there is first a gated property, with some large building and manicured lawns, and then, beyond that, woods.

We are walking along this green path.  We come to the end of the property to our right, and there is an inset gate, a broad entrance, perhaps a driveway for the property.  I walk in toward the gate, begin to open it, and suggest that we can continue off the main path.  “We can go our own way,” I say, and he reaches out, takes my arm.  “Don’t say ‘go our own way’ goodbye,” he says, pulling me back.

I am confused about what he’s saying.  Have I done something wrong?  It occurs to me that this place, wherever it is, might bring his work to mind, that maybe it is terribly insensitive of me to suggest we would walk there.

But he keeps hold of my hand as we walk on, squeezing it lightly in little sets of pulses, as if to tell me that everything is OK.  I wonder if maybe it’s song lyrics he’s chastising me for, as if he thought I meant we would walk different directions instead of together.  He continues to squeeze my hand a little longer, and I regain my smile.

He does not let my hand go.

We continue to walk, but begin to move to the right, toward the woods.  I think maybe we will turn in, and walk together off the main path after all, but we seem to only be meandering that way, drifting towards the edge. I am walking on that side, and in a few moments I am crunching leaves as I walk.

Thinking still that we will turn and walk in the woods – thinking we must unless he intends to simply walk us into trees – I tell him that I am afraid of snakes.  I don’t mean that we shouldn’t walk in the woods, only that he should know this.  A man should be warned if and why the woman he’s with might suddenly begin to shriek and cry, after all.

But we walk away from the woods, more to the center of the path, and he switches sides with me, so that he’s closer to the edge of the woods now.

He does not switch hands, though.  Although my right hand is now closer to his left, he still holds my left hand in his right, our arms crossing over our bodies, making us walk very close together.  We walk slowly, and he talks to me, seriously, about his life, his work.

I love to listen to him, am so content just to have him talking to me about it.  I say little, but when I do, he listens thoughtfully and with interest.  Mostly I listen, though.

I lean my head against his chest as we walk, and let that speak for me.  When I feel his frustration about work coming through as he talks, I want very much to comfort him; to hug him.

But I don’t.  Morning has come, and I wake up first.


~ by lorakceel on February 7, 2011.

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