Dreamed Life

I never had an agenda for my life, not one I could articulate. No path to my shining star. All I had were wishes and hopes and disappointed people who had other plans for me.

Dream number one: I live in a white room with a white floor and a tall window that looks out over blinding white domes against a deep blue sky. My bed coverlet is white and there is nothing else in the room except my camera. Deep blue shadows stripe the white, white floor.

Dream number two: I work at my keyboard looking into a garden whose walls burn with thick pink and red bougainvillea. A Mexican in a long-sleeved shirt splashes water on the stones. His face is dark in the shade of his wide hat.

Dream number three: two armchairs by the fire. My feet on the fender, his feet on the fender as we consider the remains of the day.

The angel of my dreams has guided all my wanderings. Only now do I see that they all came true.