"So beautiful," I say to Bernie as we walk through the farmer's market. "I'm breathless," he says looking at the peonies. "I just can't get over them." I tell him about my dream.
"I was a wing," I say.
I was flying in a blue sky but I didn't know where I was going. As the sun set I started to follow the ruddy gold color and got closer and closer to it. I found myself in a strange land and noticed that the women of that land were singing as they worked. I landed on an old tree that had small olives. I was careful not to crush them. They are so delicious when they're ripe. The shepherd came by with his sheep. He was playing a clarinet; a low plaintive sound. Suddenly a ram came running toward the sheep. The shepherd took out the gilded bells and played them, quieting the ram and enchanting me. As I walked into town I noticed terracotta-tiled roofs. The scene was peaceful and lovely. These young days, these young times would stay in my memory forever. As the shepherd played, the birds listened. So did the women. A rooster crowing, far away, could be heard.
"How hot it is," said the shepherd.
"I hadn't noticed," I said.
Everything was so beautiful. I was convinced I was in Greece but finally realized that I was in southern France.
"Well, it's sweet to live in France," I told myself.
