I had an early morning dream wherein I was picking cherries but had nowhere to put them except my hands.  There were smaller, bright red, tart pie cherries along with dark red and sweet eating cherries, staining my fingers purple.  I think I was eating them in my sleep.  Across the yard was a house, a beautiful old Craftsman style with wood and deep forest green paint tucked into the trees.  It looked like summer but the air was crisp as Alaskan autumn, as there had already been frost.  However, as I was moving branches aside looking for cherries, there was a bird’s nest in one with a couple of fledged babes in it looking at me and they didn’t fly away as I gently let go of the branch.  I went to the house to look for a container for my cherries and realized that it was a clubhouse for my friend Yael and I and our families.  When I got there, the door was open but it wasn’t supposed to be for some reason.  Anyway, it gets confusing and jumbled after that with dirty kitchens and helping pregnant women who have nothing, kids with sticky fingers and stuff of that nature.

 

The accompanying picture was taken while cherry picking this summer.

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