I dream of writing

Last night I dreamed that I was making ink from dandelion roots.  Yes.  Dandelion roots.  I was boiling them in a cauldren out of doors, like I imagine people would do when making walnut ink, and then I strained it and bottled it in old pop bottles.  I sat at a picnic table in the sunshine and wrote with it--the paper was creamy and the 'ink' was green-yellow-brown.  I could not see the words but I could see the ink laying down on the paper.

Then I awoke to snow on the ground, a black and red formal piece waiting for me on my drawing board, and no dandelion ink. 

I feel bereft somehow.

Comments

[Dorothy]

What a lovely dream! Too bad about waking up to reality....

[Jane Farr]

You are creative even while you sleep! :)