Dispatches from Home – Dead Swans.

Early this morning, I had the strangest dream I’ve had in recent memory.

In it, I was sitting on the banks of a placid, indigo-blue lake. In front of me, a velvety carpet of verdant green grass, dappled by the sunlight shining through the trees, slowly sambaed its way to the water’s edge. Pairs of snow-white swans floated atop the lake in majestic splendor. Suddenly, the sky turned dark.

Then, as I reeled back in horror, pairs of dying swans fell from the sky, splashing into the water in great feathered chunks. I sat upright in the bed at that point. Yikes!

Thoughts…comments? Mr. Freud, are you out there?

Later Freudian Gaters!

(Originally posted June 4, 2019)