Last night in this BnB with the brook outside I had two.
Dream one
I was in Paris with BV, an artist I had worked with for years and had lunch within Thursday in Inman Square, where we had often eaten in the seventies and eighties. He was driving. The other passenger in the car was the long dead Jacques Brel.
The roads were narrow, cobbled stones with buildings so close the car almost scraped them. Brel asked if we wanted to go back. We did not.
We turned a corner and the road became a red carpeted, steep hill. At the bottom were barriers like the kind at a movie theatre, with gold posts and velvet ropes. Well dressed people welcomed us to NY.
No customs.
Later as we drove along Storrow Drive in Cambridge, I worried about getting back to Europe.
Dream two.
I took the baby doll someone had given me to the centre place in Argeles. I fell asleep on the sand. When I woke there was lightning in the sky. People were packing up to leave.
The doll was face down in the water. I did not want to get my feet wet, but I rescued it anyway and squeezed the water out of it.
On the walk back to the village the rain soaked my clothes. I ducked into an old age home,although I real life there is none on that row.
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