incursion into dreams

There is this old house, mossy green and dark, visible slightly through the large trees around. Perhaps someone inside is playing old records or a piano, no, better still, she’s not playing anything at all but singing. She maybe a witch, cooking chocolate fudge. Only the chocolate is flesh and bones of children. Quick, hide! She may see us. What flavor would you like to be?

Collecting pebbles by a tiny lake. A large white building on the backdrop. The pebbles look similar to the stuff the building is made of. But we are too little to notice the building; the pebbles are great enough to hold us enchanted. Some of them are larger than the grasp of your palm. Are you angry about that? Do I see your lips curling? Come on now, stretch your hand, place your palm on mine, don’t giggle, I won’t sing monsieur Shakespeare’s dialog a la Juliet. See, my fingers are longer than yours. Though not so thin, nor do my knuckles make sharp tiny sounds on being cracked. They make blunt noises, blunt like the tip of my fingers. Don’t laugh. What? they are like paws? So if I fold in my fingers inside like this and say ..grrrahhhhh…will you be scared? Laughing again? You just wait, you’ll be screaming soon! Ha! Why are you swinging back? Petrified huh?

Good night, sweet dreams don’t fall down from the bed. Not on me, please. At least not without warning.

This familiar town by the river or sea, have we been here before? Or will be? Your clothes are pretty, blue like cellophane paper, only they are opaque. Stick this white wild flower over your ear. Does that mean No? But why?

Can you hear the song? Is it September? Does this path lead to the fair? what are they singing. Can it be …. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme?

Are you going to scarborough fair?