I keep having dreams about gardens.
In the dreams, the garden is just like my little one at home but…
…there is always a "but" isn’t there?
The garden changes. Sometimes it’s wild and overrun with vegetation. Other times it’s dead as dead can be. Those dreams are not good.
And other times the garden is abloom with such an amazing abundance that I feel my heart beating faster in my dream. Early this morning, it was my little Phalaenopsis who’d grown to outlandish proportions. Fat bells hung from its skinny stem, ready to open, and two more flowering spikes were growing, bearing the promises of many more flowers.
I’m not even sure an orchid of that genus can do that, (or maybe it can– click on this UC Davis picture to see) but that didn’t stop this one. And it was incredibly beautiful. I was happy in my dream.
I’m no dream interpreter, although I have taken classes and read books on the subject, but I’m going to venture a guess: I miss home.