Winter Kites

I woke up from the most strange dream this weekend. Here's what happened: I walk into a haunted house, and I'm told that my room is at the end of the hall, the one that looks like a funeral parlor. Bookshelves are built into the wall, and I see ghosts flitting in my peripheral vision. There's a sense of dread in the room. I feel suffocated. Suddenly the room opens out into a field, and I walk into tall grass that sways against me. A huge, ancient tree sits alone in the field; it's a late spring or early summer day; the breeze feels just perfect. There are hundreds and hundreds of kites in the tree, wrapped around all the branches, tangled at the lines, caught in the wind. They shimmer back and forth gracefully, with a touch of melancholy. I walk up under the kites and stare right at them. They turn into balloons, hundreds of different colored balloons that are no longer caught in the tree but are still pressed together, embracing. Somehow, I'm floating up, I'm getting closer to the balloons. I'm rising gently, softly, and I welcome it. Right when I get near the balloons I wake up.

In my mind and heart and spirit, I tie this in to a true story a friend of mine told me about the birth of her first son: ~~~~

She and her husband were on the way to the hospital in the middle of a horrible winter storm. They'd already starting having troubles in their relationship, but the troubles were buried deep enough that they hadn't begun to crack the surface in totally visible ways. They arrived at the hospital, and--instead of helping his wife--the husband hurried toward the hospital's doors, to get in from the cold. His wife was left in the car by herself, and she opened the door, and then stood there looking at her husband. He seemed so far away. She'd have to carry her luggage by herself. She took that extra second to feel the life inside her, to feel winter on her face, and he seemed even farther away. He told her to hurry up, it's freezing out here, we have to get inside where it's warm. So she grabbed her luggage and followed behind him in the snow, and stepped inside where it felt safe and warm and free.

Lately, my friend and her son have been letting this kite go, little bit of string by little bit of string.