Madeleine Moment
Last night, I had a dream about Linda Riley.
I dreamt that she was living very nearby, and I spotted her when I found a couple of self-portraits she'd done. I can't remember if they were 3-dimensional, done in pottery, or 2D paintings that looked like pottery. The portraits were side-by-side, both recognisably her, each slightly different. One showed her face slightly rounder than I remember; one slightly narrower.
They were outside a small cottage, representing a cottage industry, a business that sold that sort of thing.
I waited outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. It never occurred to me to go inside - the entrance was at the rear. When she emerged, I saw that it was indeed her. She got into a small car - like the Fiesta she used to drive - and set off on the country roads. I assumed she was going home.
Although she was in a car, I followed on foot, and managed to stay close enough to her that I never lost sight. Such is the magic of dreaming. She set off up a hill, made several turns, and arrived in a fortified hilltop village - like one or two I've seen in Provence. She crossed a bridge in the car and drove through cobbled streets until she reached what I assumed was home.
Still, I didn't speak to her, but now I thought I knew where she lived. Suddenly, I knew a lot more about her. That she wasn't married, that she was still living under the name Linda Riley, that she'd aged gracefully, her black hair only slightly grey.
It was time to make my way home. I just had to retrace my steps through the fortified village, find the bridge, and head downhill on the country roads. Only I got lost in the village, taking wrong turn after wrong turn, until I had completely lost my way.
I retraced my steps to the village square, and thought I knew the mistake I'd made, and I was about to set off again when I woke up.
I dreamt that she was living very nearby, and I spotted her when I found a couple of self-portraits she'd done. I can't remember if they were 3-dimensional, done in pottery, or 2D paintings that looked like pottery. The portraits were side-by-side, both recognisably her, each slightly different. One showed her face slightly rounder than I remember; one slightly narrower.
They were outside a small cottage, representing a cottage industry, a business that sold that sort of thing.
I waited outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. It never occurred to me to go inside - the entrance was at the rear. When she emerged, I saw that it was indeed her. She got into a small car - like the Fiesta she used to drive - and set off on the country roads. I assumed she was going home.
Although she was in a car, I followed on foot, and managed to stay close enough to her that I never lost sight. Such is the magic of dreaming. She set off up a hill, made several turns, and arrived in a fortified hilltop village - like one or two I've seen in Provence. She crossed a bridge in the car and drove through cobbled streets until she reached what I assumed was home.
Still, I didn't speak to her, but now I thought I knew where she lived. Suddenly, I knew a lot more about her. That she wasn't married, that she was still living under the name Linda Riley, that she'd aged gracefully, her black hair only slightly grey.
It was time to make my way home. I just had to retrace my steps through the fortified village, find the bridge, and head downhill on the country roads. Only I got lost in the village, taking wrong turn after wrong turn, until I had completely lost my way.
I retraced my steps to the village square, and thought I knew the mistake I'd made, and I was about to set off again when I woke up.
posted by Anonymous at
Friday, February 03, 2006
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