A dream

I had a dream last night. The dream had no char­ac­ters or famil­iar places or faces or belong­ings. There was no plot nor any con­fu­sion. Just a sin­gle event which I focused tighter and clos­er upon as it pro­gressed.

There was a tree, placed in the exact cen­ter of a bar­ren val­ley. The ground was caked mud, heat­ed and cooled until split and cracked and dried out, a chaot­ic checker­board pat­tern stretch­ing to the hori­zon. Moun­tains sur­round­ed the val­ley dra­mat­i­cal­ly and sym­met­ri­cal­ly, though I did not look direct­ly at them. My eyes were on the tree. The dead tree

The tree had smooth dark brown bark, very gen­tly mus­cled. It seemed famil­iar to my eye, but I could not name it now or then. The tree had no leaves any­where. It’s brances stretched out­ward and upward strong with­out being brit­tle. There was one branch that stood out. It was large and stout, almost as big around as the tree, with an ovoid bisec­tion. The branch extend­ed far­ther upward than any oth­er part of the tree. Slow­ly, with­out any vis­i­ble mech­a­nism or appa­ra­tus, a fine line began it divide the branch from the tree very near to the trunk. It was not a saw or knife, but more an inci­sion that sep­a­rat­ed and pulled branch from tree, until the limb was com­plete­ly shorn and free­stand­ing, stur­di­ly in the air some six inch­es away from its for­mer home.

Then, slow­ly at first, then quick­er, beads of blood devel­oped where sap should have been. The blood thick­ened and pooled, cov­er­ing the vis­i­ble growth rings until it began to drip. At this point the entire scene began to look like a Dali, in that it was very sur­re­al and pure­ly observed, but the col­ors and tones had the look of paint­ing and art, and now how eyes see. A sub­tle music built to a cli­max and end­ed abrupt­ly, though did not notice it until it had been mut­ed.

I did not wake up. The dream left me and I con­tin­ued sleep­ing.

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