Summer Moon of the First Harvests
Dreams last night. Once again a farm with outbuildings, a farm where I had land, but in this case land I couldn’t access because the owner was a drunk and wouldn’t let anyone on the property.
(Edward Robert Hughes, Dream Idyll)
This was outside Fuller, Minnesota where I had gone with two friends. We couldn’t make it back to the cities so we decided to stay in a hotel. I’d stayed in the hotel before, but couldn’t recall Fuller. In the hotel the rooms had beds in alcoves, private baths and when I ordered dinner it was on dirty table clothes in the hallway. Other guests came and dined, too.
They spoke of Bill, the poet, who was going to present his work at a local congregation. I met him. He seemed like an interesting guy so I offered to go with him. “No,” he said, “It’s a closed congregation.” Oh, I said. As if that made sense. “Lutheran Brotherhood.” Oh.
I often go north in my dreams. Still heading north after all these years.
