It was a strange and strong blur of a dream, if that makes sense. In a crowd. Seems like I was going somewhere, following the crowd, like we were heading into a concert or amusement park. Currents of excitement. Streams of chatter and laughter. I’m with others in my party, half-listening but tuned out of them, mostly just there, impatiently queuing, moving forward with halting, shuffling steps. But I don’t mind. I’m going forward. The destination is almost in view ahead. Fresh air. Forested hills and low mountains cup us in a bowl from what I see. Late afternoon blue sky. Darkening but still daylight, cruising toward night. Warm but cooling.
Odd. Saw myself from a perspective down below. Looking up. Perspective focused on me. Following me through the crowd.
Then, interrupted. Discover hands before me. Three? Four? They’re closed into fists. Open. Colors are on the palm. Paper? Red. Blue. Yellow. Purple. Voice says, “Choose your color.”
I’m confused. Try backing away. Wonder where my people are. Who this person is. Why I’m being asked to choose. He persists. I’m blocked in by the crowd. Can’t get away from him. Never see anything of him but his hands holding these colors.
French blue. Sunflower yellow. Apple red. Bright purple. It calls me. I point at it. “Purple.”