I dreamt of Lake Erie again. In my dreams, I am there at night, and the lake is a sinuous inky blackness with churning white breakers, vast as the sky and somehow above my sight line, inhaling and exhaling in a thunderous, crashing rhythm. I always hear it before I see it, and feel my way to it. The dream beach I must cross is white as snow, cold like my dead grandmothers hands and damp. I feel the soft heaviness of the sand resist my bare feet. The arch of the moving lake is revealed from behind silhouetted grey trees and swaying grasses... a powerful place, dangerous and beautiful and alive. Straight-line winds push me to go back, but I get as close as I dare and sink to my knees. I want to feel the water slide in and surround me. I wonder if I am remembering. When I was a child, relatives of my grandmother had a house there and we stayed with them... at least once. But I was very, very young.
Posted on: Mon, 27 Oct 2014 22:33:19 +0000
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