I’ve been having the most complicated dreams lately.
They have been byzantine and mysterious, but also luminous—so much so that I feel, sometimes, as if I am standing in a river of light.
It’s impossible to capture the dreams—to write them down or retell them.
But I feel their presence every time I sit down to write.
They are like sunlight—warm on my back.
Maybe it is just that I am longing for spring.
Or maybe this light is always there and I am not aware of it.
I don’t know.
But in any case, I am grateful.
And I’m writing.

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