someplace like that

I had the weirdest dream that came at the weirdest time.

There I was, in some midwest town, possibly Kansas, just before fall. There was a slight breeze, the bluest sky, and clouds so thick and white, they almost seemed like you could reach out, and pull them right out of the air. The house I was at wasn’t as clear, but the big back porch was, that had an antiqued feel to it. White paint was chipping off the pillars, where an old swing was attached, with cushions that were kept up and new. The yard was filled with wild weeds, but not of the type that gave off that dirty look, but of a white golden wheat quality, that gave a clean picturesque appearance. Sporadic rocks were positioned around, black as volcano sediment, and spaced so evenly, it looked like a movie set.

And there he was… complaining about a bottle of wine he bought from the local drug store, and how the first bottle you buy, is always the worst, but there’s no use trying to return it, because the owner will only try and resell it to you, after you’ve purchased it. There was a charm to him, as he wore his sun hat, and spoke, looking around the yard, as if looking for something out of place, or to discuss a change of some sort to the local.

I studied the moment, and can’t remember who he was talking to, but you got the sense they felt proud, sharing this moment with this man. I was then spotted, and started walking out, as if I was already mid stride. I approached him, taking in the air, while a soft breeze hit my neck, as the sun shown down to create a perfect temperature. I near perfect moment as I took everything in. He looked at me welcomely, kicking at the dirt in between the alien like rocks, testing for dust I can only assume, as no dirt was brought up from it. I looked around and said it was a beautiful day while I continued to take in the surroundings. He responded, “It’s perfect”. Then something took his attention in the distance.

“You know, it’s amazing how that animal, can beat nearly every other animal, in a quarter mile”. He looked back to me as I then looked out, through the golden weeds, as a large dessert tortoise, the size of two saint Bernard's, looking like one of the strange rocks, was walking across the yard.

“They’re slow, but their persistence always seems to win the race”.

I took in that comment, looked off into the far distance of the yard, that seemed to stretch for miles, and wagered my future and where I wanted to go.

The man was David Fincher. A famous director. The location was Kansas or someplace like that. The point was, well I don’t know exactly, but I know it got me up at the crack of dawn, and immediately writing this. I suppose that says something.