Why did I dream that He cut down the old apple tree at the bottom of the garden and then park our car underneath it?
Why did I dream that we decided to take a short cut across Wimbledon Common in our car, only to find the track disappeared into a muddy footpath with a stream of children walking home from school along it in the deepening twilight?
Why did I dream that I walked over a deserted moorland track to take a bag of something or other to some people we had met, and when I got there, the entire front garden was covered in big dozy bluebottles and the friends who had seemed so nice were now rather scary and alarming?
I stopped drinking ginger tea in the evenings because I was getting wild and slightly threatening dreams, surely peppermint tea can't be the cause?
|From Fantasiestucke by Robert Schumann|
Just now, I have narrowly avoided pouring milk into the tea pot and not the mug, and sprinkling loose tea all over the meatballs and pasta dish waiting to be reheated in the oven for our lunch. By an extreme effort of will I have succeeded in putting the grated cheese on top for the past, the milk in the mug, and the tea, followed by boiling water in the tea pot.