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Thursday, August 18, 2005 Yesterday morning: woke up around four from vivid, involved dreams, the last one featuring snakes. I like snakes, generally have several encounters with them in teh course of the short warm season here -- garter snakes, mostly. Inoffensive creatures. Neighbors, putting in an appearance now and then, getting some sun or hanging out near where I'm working in the garden or mowing lawn, melting away into the greenery when I get too close. The snakes in the dream were bigger than those, three or four times so, though not threatening. Until the final one, a small, green serpent, more or less the size of a garter snake -- but clearly dangerous, poisonous, and fixed on me. Intent on coming at me, readying itself, my efforts to put some distance between me and it having no effect. My eyes opened as it lunged at one of my legs, I found myself in bed. For a while I remained prone, trying to shake off the dream's vivid intensity -- without success, finally turning on the light, getting up, moving about the house until my head cleared. Times like that, it's nice to wake up and find your sweetheart sleeping next to you, hear her soft, steady breathing. In those moments, I notice that particular gap in my current existence. Got back into bed, picked up a book and read for a while, the world outside moving slowly toward dawn. It's been an interesting, active week. Last Friday afternoon, I made the drive over to Burlington to meet up with the Latino group [see entry of July 23], spent a couple of hours speaking Spanish. A small turnout that time, me the only honky for most of it. The Chilean couple were there, sitting at a sidewalk table with a 60ish Puerto Rican woman I'd never met before. Juan Carlos showed up, personable and chatty as always. Off beyond our group, a shaggy college-aged 20-something male in shorts and sandals sat on a towel by the front of the café, back against the building, sometimes strumming a guitar, other times talking to himself. Another self-talker happened by, accosted a skinny fella standing in the café's doorway. In unpleasant fashion, apparently, his voice rising as the exchange progressed, the guy in the doorway, asking him to back off, go away, finally retreating into the café. The acoster stood staring into the café for a while, then moved on. Light spritzing rain came and went, attractive women passed by, most wearing what seems to be the unofficial warm-weather outfit in much of the northeast (including Montréal): shorts, t-shirt/tank top, flip-flops. A car pulled up, a guy got out, reached back in and slowly extracted a string bass (in carrying case), the instrument looking so oversized that removing it from the vehicle (and therefore stuffing it in at some earlier point) appeared to defy the laws of physics. Around 7:30, the rain -- providing more atmosphere than moisture to that point -- decided to get more serious, sending the rest of the group indoors. I had friends arriving later in the evening, so headed homeward. Rain. More rain. A bit of an adjustment after the recent weeks of spectacular, rain-free weather. But good for the Earth and all that. (Grumble, grumble.) Friends arrived around ten -- G. and S., a couple who brought along their two cats (with my blessing) for the adventure of it. A lesbian couple, together now for twelve, thirteen years, something like that. Two of my favorite people, both attorneys. (I'm aware that there are those who would write them off as human beings for being (a) lesbians, (b) attorneys, or (c) lesbian attorneys. To that part of the population I say: get over it.) G. and S. set up camp in the downstairs guest room, let the cats out, put together a temporary litter box that resembled a small, cardboard doghouse. One of the cats immediately disappeared under the bed. The other remained out in the open, cautiously dealt with finding itself in a strange living space. G. and S. joined me upstairs for a bit of blab, we retired to our respective bedrooms, calling it a night. Next day: a long, lazy morning spent catching up, a field trip to a swimming hole in the afternoon (another perfect Vermont summer day, the water in the pond clear, cool, filled with schools of curious fish), a trip to the circus, each part of the day better than the last. The circus -- the performers between 10 and 18 years of age, the entire gig happening in one ring in a small, intimate big top, the audience at least 60% kids, all of whom seemed entranced -- turned out to be a ball. Inspirational. The greatest circus-type thingy I've ever been to. I covered the circus tix, G. & S. bought dinner afterward. A fine wind-up to a fine day. [continued in next entry] Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 12:12 PM [+]
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