Last night I dreamed in colors and textures of tall grasses and wild flowers, of a little red house sitting at the end of a long and pocked dirt driveway, of pine trees reaching their fingers to the sky. I dreamed the taller of the two trees was being pushed skyward by a lost thumb beneath its strong roots.

There was a black water still pond and a weeping willow, bent in mourning to kiss the cold water.

There was a little evergreen in the yard. The children could reach the top, and they would adorn it with snow balls and icicles for Christmas with its freezing snow family.

I dreamed of fat, black tadpoles with legs swimming round and round in a quickly receding summer storm water hole. I dreamed they need rescuing, but it was time for lunch. Fat black tadpoles dry up like raisins with legs in the sun.