Perhaps to dream
My only recurring dream played again last night. The dream is remarkable not only for its fidelity to plot and regularity of occurrence, but also for the duration of its run. I have been dreaming this dream since the Johnson administration.
In the dream I discover an embankment or small mound of earth studded with dozens of arrowheads - glossy black obsidian, iron-stained chert, gray-blue flint, and quartz as white as pearls or clear as glass. Some are imperfect, but all are delicately knapped. I fill my pockets, and eventually wake up - bereft of pockets and arrowheads alike.
I am not an artifact hunter, and it has been many years since I found an arrowhead. Yet I am always inexplicably saddened by this dream. It leaves me feeling moody and morose.
Interpretations, anyone?
2 days ago




