Up at three-thirty this morning, after reading Spanish for half an hour, I turned to some of the dreams I recorded in 2008 and 2009. Several of them involved my mother and deceased father and my childhood home, and in several others there appeared old school friends, as well as a friend I had at the time who died in 2010. So many strange, familiar situations, filled with longing, color, and sometimes even scent, such as in this brief encounter, preserved April 29, 2009:
The Scent of Gardenia
In my hands, a framed sepia photograph of a crowded street in Mexico. Most of the men are wearing large straw hats, no two of which are alike. The picture comes to life: the hats, but not the faces or clothing, are infused with color; there is conversation, laughter, movement; the sound of a woman’s voice becomes the scent of gardenia.
One thing I find interesting is that this was written in the present tense. It makes me wonder now if it is still being dreamed, and I am about to add the next detail. Maybe I am the detail.
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