Dream d3605-s: The Interval

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the rain came sideways across the ridge and I stood inside the shelter watching it arrive.

The shelter was low-roofed, three walls of stacked stone and one open side facing the path. Drops came through the opening and darkened the packed earth floor in a spreading line. I stood back from the line, dry, and watched the path.

A figure appeared at the path's bend, moving quickly, head down. The gait was tired. The cloak was soaked through, the fabric darkened and heavy across the shoulders, and water ran in a thin sheet from the hem with each step. The figure reached the shelter and stepped in without looking up. They stood breathing. The sound of rain on stone was loud.

I saw what was missing before I could name it. The shelter had a wooden bench along the back wall, and on the bench there was nothing. The figure sat, pulling the wet cloak tight, and I looked at the bench and looked at the door, and understood the interval between the arrival and what should have followed it.

Then I heard a second set of footsteps, unhurried, coming up the same path. Someone else reached the opening, and under one arm they carried a folded blanket, wool by the thickness of it, a dark ochre that had been washed many times. They stepped in, shook rain from their hat, and set the blanket on the bench beside the figure without a word. The figure's hands found it and drew it around their shoulders in one motion.

I watched this. The whole exchange took less time than it takes to say it. The blanket unfolded slightly as it settled and I could see the weave, dense and close, the kind that holds warmth even damp. The figure's breathing changed. Not a sound, only a slowing.

Outside, rain came down the ridge in curtains and the path was empty again. The two people in the shelter sat apart and said nothing. I stood near the open side and felt the cold air move past me and thought about the moment I had seen the bench and understood the gap. It had lasted only as long as the walk between the path's bend and the door. No longer than that.

---