Dream d3286-s: Blue Ink Dried to the Hatch

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the sack bench at Marrowmill ran the full length of the loading wall, rough wood gone smooth at the center from years of use, and I sat at its midpoint with my hands resting flat on the grain. The hemp smell in the bench was old, cut through with the standing-water scent from the wheel channel below. Lano had curled herself between two empty sacks near the lamp, her nose tucked against her tail, her breathing slow.

The clerk worked at the far end. He set a sheet from the record onto the clear part of the bench and pressed the date into the upper corner - the same tight loop on the sevens I remembered from the first account. Below the date, the page stayed open. He had already marked the blue hatch on the loft door the same way: a smear of ink dried to the wood grain, nothing else beside it, the blue standing out in the lamplight against the older grey of the planking.

The keeper moved through the near room without stopping, carrying something I could not see clearly - a measure, or a rod, or nothing - the lamplight making the shape uncertain. Footsteps on stone, then on mill planking, then gone.

I had been here once before the account went out. This was after. No answer traveled back and none was wanted. The clerk said nothing. Lano lifted her head once when a beam contracted in the night cool, then settled again. The page on the bench held only the date. The blue hatch held only the date.

Outside, the millstone rested in its housing. The wheel sat in the channel not turning. The first time I came to Marrowmill the sound of the wheel was the first thing I heard. Now the night was quiet except for the lamp, and the clerk set his pen down and looked at neither the page nor the hatch, and the place went on in its way.

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