Cinderella's Request
I was sitting on a wooden bench in what looked like a botanical park, where each tree, vine, shrub, or bush had a name tag, scientific name probably, when an old man dressed like a butler, who looked like Anthony Hopkins in The Remains of the Day, approached me and presented to me an origami piece, a white bird, on a silver platter. The bird carried a message. The bird was the message. I took the bird, unfolded it, flattened it, and read what was written on it. The message read:
Please paint the bushes white.
Cinderella.
Impossible, I thought. The old man whose face looked apologetic turned around and left in a hurry. He walked toward the entrance to the forest. It was then I noticed that his feet were so huge and bare. Without warning, he disappeared in the darkness the big trees with dense crown of leaves concealed.
Flurries fell although it looked like they floated filling the air. Then it snowed. The cold wind blew and snatched the paper from my hand. In the air the paper transformed into a bird – a paper bird – and it flew away until it disappeared in the cold. I thought blizzard. But the situation was far from a blizzard, I countered. I haven’t experienced a real blizzard yet. I’m not certain of what I was wearing in the dream but I’m certain that I didn’t feel the cold. Maybe, I didn’t mind the cold. When the snowing stopped, the bushes that lined both sides of the pebble-paved walkway turned white. Yes, the walkway appeared just like that. There were no snow flakes on the bushes that made them appear white. The bushes simply turned white – white leaves, white flowers, white twigs, white branches, maybe white roots under the cold earth. The snow only scattered on the walkway mingling with the pebbles. I walked to examine the extent of decolorization of the bushes. The first few paces I made on the seemingly interminable pebble-paved walkway with scattered lumps of snow were the steps on my way out of the dream.
Cinderella never appeared in the dream.
{August 11, 2009}
Please paint the bushes white.
Cinderella.
Impossible, I thought. The old man whose face looked apologetic turned around and left in a hurry. He walked toward the entrance to the forest. It was then I noticed that his feet were so huge and bare. Without warning, he disappeared in the darkness the big trees with dense crown of leaves concealed.
Flurries fell although it looked like they floated filling the air. Then it snowed. The cold wind blew and snatched the paper from my hand. In the air the paper transformed into a bird – a paper bird – and it flew away until it disappeared in the cold. I thought blizzard. But the situation was far from a blizzard, I countered. I haven’t experienced a real blizzard yet. I’m not certain of what I was wearing in the dream but I’m certain that I didn’t feel the cold. Maybe, I didn’t mind the cold. When the snowing stopped, the bushes that lined both sides of the pebble-paved walkway turned white. Yes, the walkway appeared just like that. There were no snow flakes on the bushes that made them appear white. The bushes simply turned white – white leaves, white flowers, white twigs, white branches, maybe white roots under the cold earth. The snow only scattered on the walkway mingling with the pebbles. I walked to examine the extent of decolorization of the bushes. The first few paces I made on the seemingly interminable pebble-paved walkway with scattered lumps of snow were the steps on my way out of the dream.
Cinderella never appeared in the dream.
{August 11, 2009}
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