dreams

A college writing professor of mine told us, "No one wants to read about your dreams," but mine last night were so clear. My mother and grandmother were there; we were all going somewhere, a particular where, down roads I recognized until I woke up, and all the animals were back, alive and alert, noses quivering in the gathering twilight. You know how they can always smell a rabbit, or a porcupine . . . and the lake spread out, clear and black.