Heyday

A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.
Mark Twain

Last night I dreamt what I can only imagine sprung from the combination of my daughter reading to me from Huckleberry Finn, a little late night t.v. about housewives whose husbands have returned from rehab, are living with women not their wives, or have been shot, and a tai salad for dinner rich with garlic and coconut milk followed later with tater tots dipped in spicy buffalo wing sauce. See? Enough to make even Salvador Dali image above and beyond. 

Initially, there was a backyard surgery to re-attach a man's ear. It seems a barnyard animal had bitten off the small appendage and it's questionable whether I should be allowed to join the surgery though I know I am entirely capable. Still, I realized halfway through assistance on same that I've failed to pack my daughter's lunch, and, running home, find that her father is just lifting her into the back of a truck which is departing though there appears to be no one driving. She is full grown yet strapped into a large booster seat and dressed like a toddler in "Little House on the Prairie" garb of full-length avocado colored gingham and she's carrying a walking stick bouquet with curled wood spindles and large sunflowers. She looks frightfully stunned and I can only run alongside the moving vehicle calling out to her that everything will be okay. 


Then as dreams are want to do, I have bulleted to the next scene and am walking a familiar cityscape's tenderloin with a camera. My desire is to photograph the people I sense I am stalking, men and women with missing limbs reading poems and laying prone on the sidewalk, but instead I resort, in respect of their privacy perhaps, to snapping images of bridge spans that resemble ferris wheels, their movement only seen when I review the photograph's revolving parts not visible when I initially press down the shutter. Red and grey. Spike and letdown. Resolve and restraint. Heyday.