The boys will be here any moment and oh, mama. Can I keep up with them today? Owen wants to do this and Gibson wants to do that and both in different directions and it gets a little crazy.
It's gray and I can't find Miss Dovie today but Camellia is here and the ducks are singing their quack-song and Miss Trixie her croon-song and Mr. Moon has gone to work.
I dreamed last night I was drinking glass after glass of the best water I've ever drunk. It tasted of stone and minerals as if it had been pulled from a very deep, old well, and then someone said, "Try this," and it was a glass of water from somewhere else and it was not nearly as good.
Water in our dreams is supposed to represent emotion, I think. Perhaps I am telling myself to trust and drink deep of the good ones, to let the not-as-good ones go.
Or perhaps it meant nothing at all except that I was thirsty in my sleep.
We all thirst for something. Goodness and righteousness, love and peace. Sometimes, just pure, clean water.
"May you never thirst," said Michael Smith in "Stranger In A Strange Land," but I would say, "May all your thirsts be slaked. "