October 5

“And while I slept, I dreamt of a home with four walls and a roof.”

The other evening I was thinking about a unique occurrence I had one night a long time ago.

There was a time about 6 years ago when sleep would not become me. At night, I would lie awake for hours which gave me time to ponder the reason I was not sleeping. Nothing added up. I worked 11 to 12 hour days; I had a babbling brook outside my bedroom window which was as soothing as any lullaby; my life was in peace and equilibrium but yet I couldn’t sleep.

And then one Wednesday night, I slept.

And while I slept, I dreamt of a home; with four walls and a roof. The home was of red brick and hugged the east side of a lake. Flora and fauna eclipse the property causing a sense of enchantment and excitement in me. In the dream, I walked to the white fence and opened the gate. As I did so, a little silver bell rang, startling me. I looked up expecting someone to open the front door having heard the quaint doorbell, however, no one stirred in the home. I meander down the cobble stone walk to the front door of the cottage and walked up the porch steps. As I approached the towering, wooden door it opened like there was an energy going ahead of me preparing the home for my arrival.

Inside the home, there was study to my immediate left with French doors that were slightly open. I peaked inside. Shelves with books covered the walls. In the middle of the room was a desk with a lit lamp and it. There was an open book on the desk. To my right was the sitting room, not large but occupied with cozy furniture arranged for visiting. Straight away I felt desire to curl into one of the overstuffed chairs and read one of the many novels from the study. But curiosity led me down the hall, passed the oak staircase, deeper into home.

Passed the staircase opened the kitchen; a cottage kitchen, with a china hutch and a small nook with a table. Simple, but elegant. The air smelled of flowers, lavender, I believe. I was drawn to the nook with the small table. On the table was a cup which held steaming liquid. I sat in the pulled out chair. As I did, warm light from the setting sun touched my face. I looked at the table and noticed that some pollen from the bouquet of flowers had fallen onto the table. It was a golden color that shimmered in the light of the sun. I closed my eyes, absorbing the atmosphere of the cottage and letting the warmth of the sun spread through my body.

I opened my eyes and was back in my room. In six years, I have seldom gone back to the home from my dreams. But the few cherished times I do; I walk through the white gate with the silver bell; down the cobbled walk and into the warm home with four walls and a roof.