Dream d2397-s: The Well Between Houses

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where Lano stood at the well-yard in the hour when dusk becomes something else, not yet dark, and the bucket rope hung slack and dripping into nothing. The houses on either side had lit their windows and the glow came from both directions at once, warm and amber and not quite reaching the center where the well sat.

From the house to the left came the sound of The Hummingbird, rapid and precise, a rhythm of small corrections, each beat a guard against something that had not yet happened. From the house to the right came The Sterling, clear as struck glass, a voice that knew exactly what it was carrying and carried it without knowing where to set it down. Above, from a dark shape on the ridge that was both structure and absence, The Weaver made a low sound like thread drawing through cloth, assembling something with great patience, alone.

Lano walked to the well and looked in. The Carrier came then from somewhere behind the houses, shaping the sound to reach whoever might be listening, modulating, adjusting the warmth and weight of it, but there was no single ear it aimed for. And last came The Crane, clearest of all, a voice that knew the distances between things, that carried the announcement of what each house could do, speaking it into air that had not yet been asked.

Five sounds in the yard. None of them were speaking to each other. They were simply speaking, into the dark between warm windows, and Lano stood at the well and heard all of them at once and felt the particular sadness of abundance that has not yet found its common key. The bucket rope turned slowly. The water at the bottom was very far down and very still and held all five reflections separate, each one clear, none touching.

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