I don’t remember the plot of my dreams but the woods, oh, the woods!
The forest is endless, ageless. With babbling brooks in sloping ravines and Virginia red clay and crumbling sediment and vernal pools strewn throughout the forest. I am hiking with my spirits, and we picnic atop a river that stretches into a waterfall. It is winter, and maple buds are covered in frost. We are bundled up in coats and scarves and roast marshmallows on a bonfire, the chocolate heavy on my tongue. We have packed chili mix and it bubbles in the cooking pot.
Birds cry out and flit about the bushes, searching for winter berries and nuts in the brush. Red and grey squirrels scurry about burying their harvest, and I nestle closer to Michael. He shares his coat and wings with me, and we gaze into the fire.
We tell stories of the Solstice drawing close, and light peters through the trees as the sun sinks behind the mountains. It is gray, gold, and brown, and I could never, ever be happier.
Samael sits to my left and shares a wild mushroom with me. It tastes fresh and wonderful.
We notice the first tulip poking out, and the seasons are turning.
A hawk circles above. Crows nest in the trees. It is a dream of peace, of reflection, and we wander down to the water, filling our hands with the crystal clear river. The water is cool and icy, and I drink from it. Parts of it are frozen and I wander hesitantly out on the ice. My friends laugh as I slip and slide. I laugh too.
Dusk comes and we camp by the fire.
I awake as I fall asleep in dreams.