So for the writing exercise for the last assignment, I was supposed to write about a dream, incorporating a “kinship with poetry” — Did I succeed? (This may be somewhat familiar to some of you, I wrote an essay about this before.)
I climb into the back of Old Blue, the motor steadily hums as we drive up into the foothills, the wind is whipping my hair across my face. Watching the valley in the distance behind me, eventually, I recognize we on the road to the Pine Tree place. It seems to take forever, but the engine thrums, and I watch the potato fields pass by. Through a haze of dust I see the power sub station, and I know we are almost there.
Abruptly, the paved road ends and becomes a gravel road; then a dirt road. Coming around a curve, I watch as the sunlight shining through the trees creates a dappled effect on the hillside. Alongside the road, wildflower’s claim their place an array of bright orange Indian paintbrush contrasting with the delicate lavender and blue of forget-me-knots, and Johnny jump-ups. The flowers play hide and seek with me in the tall grass. As we drive along, a billowing cloud of dust forms behind us. Spying the remains of the Winter House, I know the scary, narrow, stretch of road is coming up. I am always afraid we are going to fall off the edge. I squeeze my eyes shut, and waiting, I hear the change in the engine’s rumble, and I know we are climbing again, and past the scary part. Just a few more miles, and we will be there. Rounding the last bend, I see the gate, and wait impatiently for the truck to come to a stop so I can jump out the back.
Scrambling over the gate, I start running, headlong, heedlessly, down the steep dugway. It calls to me, urging me on, faster and faster, feet pounding, struggling to keep my balance, the trees blurring as I run. Suddenly, I lose my feet beneath me, and falling in slow motion, I tumble, tumble, tumble, to the bottom of the hill, a kalidiscope of elbow, knees, face, and hair —suddenly I wake up; the wind is blowing, a branch tapping a steady staccato rhythm against my window.