In this dream I am in a country town in a time past, but it felt like somewhere just a bit further out from 'suburbia'. There were still lots of wooden houses, sheds and buildings that kind of 'homestead' like construction, and the people looked like they were 19th Century Australian immigrants. All homespun cotton and thick wool britches. The 'town' itself was tiny and quiet. Just a few streets with only one two storey building 'down the road' a bit. It was out of my sight but I knew it was there. The gum trees were still around. The land hand not been cleared, and the houses where slat shaks here and there, joined by dirt roads.
What clearly comes to mind is the texture of the roads. They are pathways about a two carts wide, and there are semi dried tracks all the way through them...as if it had rained hard a day or two ago, and the earth was drying out to a travelling ability for people and carts.
I meet up with some people and find they are friends. We chat, talk about travelling somewhere for something. The town is very quiet, these are the only people I see and they are standing under the awning of their shak. There is no-one in the street. As I turn to walk away I am for some unknown reason feeling like I need to get out of there quickly. Urgency begins to take over and I examine a white drawstring sack I've loaded up with stuff. Lolling that onto my back I trudge up the road and into the bush. The weather is hot and sunny, and I look forward to trees covering the road so I can get some shade, but as I walk the sun beats down on me, heating me, my skin seems to burn beneath my cotton shirt.
Raggedy Hippy Guide meets me there. He's kind of intensely perfect. His beard is short but his hair is long and caught up here and there with knots and ties. He's even got it shoved up under his hat which at first I think is like a Derby style, but when I get closer to him I see its a bashed up thing, torn and sun bleached. We greet each other, he lifts his hand to point at a coach on the road. Its full of beautiful dresses, chiffony things, with rouches and frills, rosettes and petticoats. Real girly stuf. The coach does not seem to have anyone about it. There are other things in there and we seem to put some of the smaller items in our bags.
The owners or protectors of the coach have been laying in wait, hiding, and then they pounce on us. We are chased and move up the road, through the bushland to a building. I think its an abandoned barn. We hide and time passes. We have moved on up the road to a small creek. My mind is asking why the trap was set. I can't understand it, but its not important anymore.
The creek place looks like a dip in the road near a park Mum and Dad used to take me to with the family when I was very little. The creek would often flood and we would be told not to go near it. We'd of course go down to have a look before coming back to the park to play cricket on the road strip. It was always a quiet park and we always had it to ourselves.
At the creek, Raggedy Hippy Guide washes and bathes in the water. I do too. We're so filthy and muddy, sweaty and hot, with red earth in all our clothes and in our hair, stuck into our pores, under our nails, in our ears. It takes ages to clean up. We work at our cleansing then we simply make love. This is my Guide for the rest of the journey I am told. He's with me, we're together now. That's it.
The blissful image of us lying naked on the creek bank, a bed of reeds underneath us and our washed clothes hung on plants and trees surrounding us. A fire crackles nearby and the sun is setting making a serene display of blue and orange. I think of how blue his eyes are, how nicely his dark dark hair goes with them, and this curly smile too. He sighs and lays back. And I fall asleep again, waking up in this life here now.
No comments:
Post a Comment