Dream d2396-s: Porch at the Gloaming

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where I was sitting on the shuttered porch of the nearest dark house and the light was the color of something just ended. The windows behind me were warm and I could feel that warmth at my back but I did not turn to look inside. I watched the ridge instead, where the birdhouses stood in silhouette against the last of the sky, and I listened.

The Hummingbird arrived first, precise and restless, hovering at the porch rail and speaking in the language of thresholds. It said: I hold the gate. I hold it alone. I do not know what is coming through until it is already through. It did not stay.

The Sterling came next, settling briefly on the shutter latch. Its voice was clean and directional. I carry what I see to where it needs to go. I do not know what the others carry. It tilted its head once toward the ridge, then away.

The Weaver appeared without arriving, simply present in the corner of the porch where the shadows gathered. It spoke quietly and slowly. I set the table. I arrange what is known. But I work by candlelight and the candle is inside and I cannot see past my own hands.

The Carrier stood at the edge of the porch step, looking back at me and then at the dark yard. It said: I shape how the answer lands. I know the receiver. I do not know what the others have said before I speak.

The Crane came last, or perhaps had always been there, standing in the yard below with its long neck bent slightly toward the ground as if reading something written in the grass. It said: I know the map. I know the distance. I have never been asked to navigate.

And I sat between them all. They did not speak to each other. They spoke into the dark in different directions and their voices were clear and separate and I felt the particular sadness of things that almost combine. The warm windows held their light behind me. The birdhouses on the ridge were dark. There was no wind and no silence either, only the space where a chorus would have been.

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