The Port Dream

This was a dream about port, the fortified wine drink. A very expensive bottle of port had turned up missing from its crate. The owners were the U.S. government. CIA, I think. I didn’t know who took it but I quickly realized where it was. The bottle had been sent to offer samples to people at a function. I met with the agent, a blond, white male, clean shaved, tousled hair, average height, casual clothes, and relayed what I’d learned. He told me it was critical to recover that bottle. I told him that I would get it back.

A strange car journey in a Ford Thunderbird convertible (a 1965, I think, which was what my father owned) followed, a circuitous route that embraced old steel girder bridges over ravines and rivers, a bumpy, dusty lane, a winding country highway, and a modern American Interstate. I always knew where I was going but detours kept coming up. Fair weather and certainty kept me calm, though.

I arrived at the function, where a gathering of women was about to open the bottle to sample it. I intervened, telling them they’d been sent the wrong bottle and producing another bottle for their benefit. The agent arrived to take the bottle from me. We then agreed we would go to the river. A few others joined us enroute, including a female acquaintance of mine, a young white woman with a round face and a short, black bob. The agent told me to open the bottle. That confused the woman. She protested that it was supposed to be a protected bottle, according to her understanding. I replied, that was a different time. Circumstances had shifted and we were approved to open the bottle to sample it.

I turned to the agent for confirmation. After talking about it with me and thinking more, he agreed with me. We opened the bottle and poured small portions into fine, small glasses. Toasting, we drank.

Dream end.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: