Amazing what the unconscious mind is doing while we are sleeping. I feel that remembering dreams is like catching the night shift at work, doing the jobs that are magically done in the morning, usually with no trace of the workers - like the cobbler and the elves that made his shoes at night.

Another, this one more recent...

There's a tall maple that shades our deck. The branches have stretched, in the dream, so that they sprawl out over the deck rails, and they are heavy with huge and diverse fruit, none of the fruit are recognizable as ones I know, but they are definitely edible and ripe, in all the colours one associates with tree fruit, plum purples, pear yellows and roseate and apple green and delicate orange. I reach to touch one; it is smooth and cool and a delicious scent of pear-orange-apple comes from it. As I pluck it, the dream ends.

An old one, when I was living in the city...

It is recognizeably my neighbourhood, in my city, at night, but the pavement is broken and cracked; grass and weeds grow through it. There is no electricity, just dim lamps and candles showing through windows here and there. I am hurrying through the dark streets with a message for someone clutched in my hand, and when I see anyone walking, I slip into the shadows between houses and wait until they pass...

Ack! We interrupt this dreamcast to report that Tommy has just brought in a huge bullfrog - alive and hopping! BRB...