Feb. 20th, 2009

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In my dream I am standing on the tower, my hands rest on the smooth flint blocks, still warm from the summer sun - the orange-red sun that is sinking into the west, poised to plop gently into the sea just out of sight beyond the marsh.

I can see the wagons rolling out of the fields, piled high with reeds perfectly dried by the weeks of summer, I can see the men, bare-chested lying sprawled on top of the wagons, while the women, hair flying loose, skirts hitched up and tied round their waists, arms brown as cob nuts. I glance down at my own hands, pale against the black flint, and wish - even in my dream that I could be down there with them. I try to banish that thought, to continue this beautiful dream, but it's to late and the dream begins to fade with the sunlight and soon I awake once more.

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ravenedgewalker

December 2010

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