I had an utter failure of a dog walk earlier this evening so Ranger and I made another go of it. Earlier, a cul de sac was full of obnoxious kids which got him entirely out of hand. Just now, a pack of wild teens walked by - I purposefully halted our progress to let them pass as he was reticent to have them at our backs no matter how many corrections I gave.
As they passed, rude comments about what would happen if he attacked were exchanged between the, obviously, frightened boys, their bravado for the women entirely lacking. Gentlemen would stop and greet the dog, make the women there feel more secure, perhaps ensuring a later improvement in romance. I suppose I am old-fashioned and the girls surrender all without chivalry being proffered as currency.
At any rate, we bidded our time only to find the pack having settled near the house. Ranger was none too pleased and made casual water as comment. I suspect Trooper will have had the locals make a slow drive through just to disperse them to their rightful homes or at least inside and off the street. At least when I was a punk, we kept it quiet and shadowy...sigh...the good ol' days.
I am truly exhausted tonight -the last few weeks have brought a few bad dreams but all with a similar theme - dark voiced pronouncements. Sometimes from my own lips. To one thundering query of "What was the name of Mary's rose?" came my own rising from a bed, thrusting someone else to the ground and saying in a horrid voice, "The Sinners Rose". I said it so loud that I woke myself. Of course, I looked and discovered this interesting tidbit. I did not know I knew that. I don't think I did though it is possible I read it in the past.
Last night I dreamt of a map - old and soiled and somewhat puritan in nature - that same sort of scrawling ink...and a house in a town - tall gabled roof - and a warning that it was the most haunted place around. I entered - again, with someone - and instantly I could feel the clamoring of souls against the roof, battering to escape. Flying through and around...I know I said something immediately - This Has Been - this has always been - or something to that effect and again woke myself with my own fervor.
And I would not give it as much thought except that twice today the Morrigan flew near...this evening, she perched, even, on the roof rack of my truck as I left the office. I threw a bit of biscotti to the ground in the hope of pleasing it/Her...but it gave me a chill, I'll admit.
One wonders about this world and just how many strange coincidences there are. We go about thinking that it's all just so random and chaotic - and it is - but I believe there are patterns in that chaos. Look at the galaxies - you would think all that spinning and blowing up would create vastly different forms. But in the end they are all the same - light and then clouds and stars twinkling only to move apart and apart to make room for another expansion...
Have you ever seen Joseph Campbell's The Power of Myth? Oh, if not you MUST. MUST. What this man had forgotten we could have supped on for decades. Anyway, it's late and I am sleepy and Ranger is ready for his kennel, too. Though, in truth, I may just leave him free till his father gets home. Perhaps he can fend off the dreams a while.
Here's to your own dreams being sweet...