Saturday, August 8, 2009

I don’t know why, but every few weeks or months, I dream that I’ve either forgotten to prune the vines and trees on our old family farm, or that it’s late in the season and I’ve fallen far behind. It happened again last night. First I thought I’d better prune the vines by the road so the place wouldn’t look like it had been abandoned. Then I remembered the apricots, and the next thing I knew, I was near the top of a ladder putting the finishing touches on a tree with a pair of long-handled shears. When I climbed back down, it was summer and I was in a park, trying to figure out how to prune the various trees and shrubs growing alongside a quiet residential street. Someone I couldn’t see said, “Maybe you should ask the doctor.” And I said, “What would the doctor know about pruning shrubs?” Then there arose the scent of dampness and mold, and I said, “Soon I will find the graves.”

4 comments:

bam said...

That last sentence is a killer. We have about 100 olive trees in Greece and your dream makes me feel as if our dreams will dream each other and I will dream of them soon.

William Michaelian said...

And that doesn’t even take into account the dreams of the trees themselves....

bam said...

I know something of the dreams of the trees themselves as it was in a neighbor's grove that I shot with my one time camera, their lopped off limbs and endings. Here's one from On Porto - #15

how the outer form falls is unnerving; it is more a sign of the tree's refusal to forget—scars on my chin where cells were removed; I think of heredity—there is no space for surprise; I've seen it again; a relentless repetition of cutting and healing; where is unconsciousness kept; where our dreams; so long ago that we can't remember—to open a new place—to imagine it; in his bed he dreams he is Crusoe; we are all home made; he resourceful—he always was

Thanks for responses,
Barbara Maloutas

William Michaelian said...

Beautiful — and, I must say, eerily familiar.

Thank you, too.