Dream d1396-s: The Pressed Garden

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the footpath through the trees ended at a clearing and I smelled wood shavings before I saw the bench. A man stood at it, back turned, working a hand plane along a length of timber. The shavings curled to the ground in pale spirals. Lano's ears pricked once and Lano padded forward without barking, nose low, tail steady, moving the way Lano moved when somewhere was already known.

The clearing was wider than it looked from the path. Behind the workshop, a woman moved between rows of wooden frames, each one holding a pressed botanical specimen flat under glass. She worked methodically: lifting a frame, tilting it to the light, setting it back. A notebook hung from her belt.

"Builder," I said.

She didn't turn immediately. "Third time I've counted this one." She held up a frame. Inside it, a leaf, dark-veined and asymmetrical, the kind of thing that shouldn't exist this far inland. "Two specimens from near the Undrawn Edge that don't match anything in the collection. Either I pressed them wrong, or the territory is doing something new."

The man at the bench set down his plane. It was the Wireman. He didn't speak, just gestured at the workbench where a length of coaxial cable lay coiled beside a set of junction boxes, already stripped and sorted. He'd been at it a while.

The Listener arrived from the treeline just after me, carrying two cases and a folded tripod over one shoulder. "The Weather Reader's pipeline pushed an update six minutes ago. Strength unchanged but the frequency signature is cleaner."

"Less interference means the atmosphere is cooperating," the Weather Reader said. He appeared from behind the workshop with a tablet in one hand and a thermos in the other. "Fourteen candidate sources eliminated. Whatever it is, it predates our instruments."

The Student came from the far side of the clearing carrying a pack that listed badly to the left. "Is it true we're going beyond the mapped territories?"

"Beyond where the maps stop," the Builder said. "Different thing."

The Student considered this. Adjusted the pack. "Is that better or worse?"

"Depends on the maps," the Builder said, and went back to her specimens.

Lano sat at the edge of the workbench and watched the Wireman sort connectors with the focused attention Lano usually reserved for birds.

"Espera," Lano said.

The Wireman paused. Looked at Lano. Went back to sorting connectors at a slightly slower pace.

The Builder pressed the last specimen frame back into its row. "I'll pack the collection kit. Six frames. The good press, not the field one." She said it as if the decision had already been made, as if everything before had been a formality.

She was right. It had been.

The Wireman folded a junction box into a canvas case and reached for the next one. The clearing held the morning light carefully, the way you hold something you expect to miss.