In my dream, there were things I needed to do, more things, but what I wanted to do was sit and read a book. But there were more things to do, things I remembered after I'd started making plans to sit and read the book. What were these things? Were they things that I actually do need to do? Am I forgetting some task I promised to remember to complete? When I awoke and walked across the hall to the bathroom and looked out the window, checking for deer in the yard, and took my morning medicine and looked at my hair seeming to levitate above my ears, I thought with some relief that at least the dream had reminded me that I had to do these things--or else I would have sat on the couch with the book, possibly all day long. But in the ensuing ninety minutes, I've lost those things, if things they were, and now what I have is the restless edge of my morning coffee and a view of leaf-rustling breeze. And a cardinal in the tree, scarlet hopper. Some bird keeps running into my back windows, I think; occasionally this week I've heard a soft thump, at about the volume a mistaking bird would make. The cardinal hops from the tree to the roof, peers over, upside down, chirping percussively. And then he flies.
The dragon rematerialized yesterday.