Yes, comments are enabled again. You don’t have to be a registered user, or whatever, and I’m not sure how that even happened. I blame gremlins.
Carmela, my woulda-been* college girlfriend, once told me she had a running dream of ancient Rome or Greece, wherein her former self married at an early age, lost her husband to some foreign war, and spent her spinsterly existence working a loom, looking out upon the fields beyond her window. As Carmela matured, her dream self matured, too. The two moved forward together in time’s river. Sometimes I wonder what they’re both up to.
I’ve written before about my recurring dream: a sandstone landscape to the northwest, a narrow passage through steep-sided rocky hillsides. There was a time when this region would draw me in, but the last time I saw it, I drove past, thinking wistful thoughts about a time when I would have stopped and had myself a little hike. See, there was always someplace “in there” I never quite reached. Once, I made it as far as a cave among cliffs where other pilgrims had gathered, but I didn’t get to see inside the cave.
Last night, I was back. As before, I viewed the region from a distance, and I was surprised to see my cave — it’s been 20 years or more since that dream. It had changed, somehow, and it took me a while to recognize the difference.
Someone had built a hotel at the top of the cliff face.
I thought: For a price, I could stay there tonight.
But I moved on.
*Woulda been, if her longshoreman father hadn’t vowed to execute any non-Catholic who dared court his daughter.