It’s the second time I’ve dreamt of a pheasant. The last time was when I was in my mid twenties. In this dream I want to rear one. I didn’t see the bird. Perhaps it was young and I’d rescued it. But I was preparing for its arrival. A box was washed out, an area made ready for its roaming. He wasn’t sure. I wanted to do it well, to care for it assiduously. He was in the sink after I’d used it, bathing himself, quite happily. I was concerned out how he’d get out.

The extra hour’s sleep was nice, though it has left me a little grumpy, I fear. The wind was strong when I walked. And it rained. Everything was rattling at the harbour. The rigging on the boats jangling. I walked back through town.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.