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.