I had a dream last night.

I don't remember it really clearly anymore, but I remember some.

I remember it was winter. Really heavy snowy winters, like we get back home, but not necessarily bitingly cold like Red Deer gets.

I remember it was in the mountains, too. I remember that.

I remember I was with a brother figure (not Martin or David, but this boy did strike me as being my brother).

We were on good terms. We'd been playing in the snow, but he'd been getting a little too aggressive, and been pelting me really hard with snowballs and getting lots of snow in my snowsuit.

He hit me really hard once and I went backwards over a snowbank (it was a man made snowbank on the edge of the road, that dropped off about 6-10 feet to another road below.

The area reminded me of Granite Road in back home. The road above was paved, poorly, and only one lane, and the road below was a long and dirt, but snow covered, like a driveway.

Idaho Point Lookout! The area was along the path of Idaho Point Lookout. Which is bizarre, because I've only been to the place once, but I seem to dream about it an awful lot.

And the part was near town, as opposed to being on the top of the mountain.

Anyway.

So I went over backwards over this snowbank, and brother was startled and came down and I was standing already, but my eyes were fever bright and I was breathing unnaturally hard. It turns out I was really sick.

Brother took me to the house at the end of the driveway, a mostly wooden house with a porch and a thick sloping roof. I think there was a rocking chair on the porch, too, but I don't really remember. True to being sick, the images swam and spun.

The people who lived there were friends with our parents, or at least aquaintences, and knew who we were.

There was a husband (whose name I discovered was Cinnamon) who was tall, with olive skin and short, dark hair. His eyes were blue, I think, and his jaw was steeply sloped and his chin was strong but pointed.

His wife (whose named was Honey) was a slim woman of middling height, with honey-brown blond hair that curled naturally around her face in big ringlets. I didn't see her much.

There were a lot of sons. No daughters, though. One of the sons was Chris Lamb, a kid from back home. He has light olive skin and dark curly brown hair.

There were other boys. None younger than ten.

And there were cats. I remember at least five cats.

Anyway, so my brother knocked on the door. He was propping me up by this point, and I was glad to be propped up. I couldn't quite keep my balance.

Cinnamon opened the door and barely said anything, or reacted, but took me from my brother and half carried me inside into the kitchen.

My brother stayed outside. I don't know why. But he played in the driveway for most of the time.

It wasn't the kitchen, no, but I could look back and see the kitchen. It was the dining room, I remember, because I remember seeing dining room chairs, and a table, and Honey puttering around in the tiny excuse for a kitchen.

Cinnamon layed me down on the wood floor in the dining room. I think he was afraid to move me too much. He knew what ever it was I was sick with, I know that much.

He watched me the entire time. I remember being half asleep and delerious on the floor, and I remember him peeling off my jacket and boots, and loosening my shirt and taking of my socks (which were wet).

I remember trying to unfurl from the fetal position and getting tangled in the dining room chair legs.

The room was warm, though, I remember. It was warmed with a fireplace, not normal heating.

The whole place was furnished with wood that looked hand-made. It was a very Kootenays house. I felt at home there.

Some of the boys came in sometimes to look at me and Cinnamon didn't chase them away, but they left by themselves after a while.

The cats were curious, too, and came to sniff around my body. I think one of them, a young orance cat (a little bit like Ditto when he was young) came and curled up against my stomach.

I remember not being quite so delerious then.

I don't remember much more. I just remember having an overwhelming sense of protection.

It was nice.

.

Rosie.

Before&After