Dreaming

I woke from a dream in which I was a tiger helping a lion with an unruly class of zoo animals taking an exam. Now you’d think a lion wouldn’t need help but, I found out, she’d already eaten her annual quota of cheetahs.

The next day, I woke from a dream about being a curator in a museum who had a penchant for finding missing people.

Another day, and I was a shaman in a native village explaining to an outsider how evil spirits are drawn up from the ground and sent back down into it.

In another waking dream I was a police detective questioning a beautiful woman who’d had liaisons with numerous men. She qoted Voltaire as saying that a woman should always know why she was in a relationship, though I doubted Voltaire ever said any such thing.

A writer’s fantasy sometimes comes with the dawn.