I often try to read things in my dream, letters, books or signs, but it is an impossiblity. I see the marks, the graphics of the words but I cannot decipher them. I appear to accept this, though generally the note, or as in last night’s dream, the hand-written letter is given to me or arrives just before I wake. What is its import? I will never know.
Outside it rains and rains. A mist clouds all. Though according to BBC Weather, the town is due to reach 27C today. That’ll be nice.
