My dreams are a mish-mash of reflected thoughts, images seen or stories heard, crossword clues and conversations had. Last night’s one was no different. The bit I remember is he and I walking down a dark street and meeting a man who looked decidedly shifty. He had a box in his hand with a label saying Rooibos Tea. Somehow that made him less troublesome to me. He had a gift for us, well for me principally. A gift of food. And he led us down a flight of stairs into a chamber to give it to me. He opened the box and started to pull them out one by one. The only one I can remember, the fourth item was dangling from a wooden spoon. My delightful subconscious had somehow managed to come up with something that was called sea creatures and what looked like wet seaweed hanging from the ladle. I woke then and wrote down what I could remember while having a pee.
The morning was gorgeous, not too cold to be unpleasant but fresh and clean with the sea just lapping. And the stars were all out. A boy was sleeping in a doorway. I saw his legs and started as I walked by. This virus makes me reluctant to offer help to strangers and I am sorry for it. Should I wake him? I thought as I walked on, slightly faster. Help me to be kind amidst the fear.
She manages to purport herself with dignity despite her profound deafness and weakness of sight. We see her sitting in the afternoons on a pile of fencing in the wasteland we treat and call our garden. Do you want to sit here? she asked when she finally noticed us, her head inclined upwards at an odd angle as she tried to get our faces into focus. She is just waiting it out. She has faith. Let that be a comfort to her.