Dreamy Hollow

        I dreamed of a valley, though really it was too small to be a valley, but too wide to be a mere stream bed, I suppose I should call it a hollow, or perhaps a glen. I found myself running down the hillside, then jumping across a stream, then running up the other hillside, checking behind the sparse trees for others, then running back down the hill and jumping the stream again. The ground under the trees was firm, but with a layer of deep moss. The stream was a meandering silver thread that spread in some places to six or more feet across, its bottom was covered with smooth round river stones, almost like a cobblestone road, and little rainbow trout milled about, scattering when my shadow crossed the water ahead of me. I’m sure they scattered when I jumped from the other direction, but I’d already cleared the little stream and left the poor panic stricken fishes behind.

        I jumped the stream five or six times, running up to the top of the hill on each side, trying to find people who I knew were hiding in the trees. I could hear their voices, but never did find any one. I kept thinking I saw movement, but it never turned out to be anything but the shadows of leaves.

        I fell back to sleep this morning, and before I did I heard a sound like the screeching of owls in my head.

        I then dreamed, but it was not significantly different from my earlier dream, just later in the day, so the trees cast longer shadows. I did wake shortly after I noticed a bridge a few hundred feet down stream from where I was searching.

Ad astra per technica,

FF