a dream disinterred

from a letter written in october of '09

I dreamt I was back in Stamford. It was autumn, the trees had all turned, but the leaves hadn't dropped. Early evening. You were with me. We were walking. Walking along the side of a long, twisting and narrow road. One side walled up by huge boulders, that jutted out into the road... I remember walls like that in Stamford. Roads like that. The other side was a sharp drop into a ravine. Stamford is hilly, forested. Everywhere is trees. And every tree was yellow, orange and red. The wind was blowing, but the sun was still out, just setting. Just starting to set. Bright orange rays breaking through leaves and branches. The waving currents of the wind in the leaves, and the long glow of sunlight made it look like the trees were on fire, but it was cold.

You were holding my hand. Our fingers folded between each other's, alternating, interlocked. I remember turning my head to watch you as you walked, watch your face as you looked at the trees, the leaves, the sunset. You looked happy, content, interesting, intrigued. You turned your head and smiled at me with the corner of your mouth and pulled me closer to you. Letting go of my hand, and wrapping your arm around my shoulders, I reached up and held your hand again, as it hung over my shoulder. I played with your fingers, turned my head to kiss your hand and leaned against you as we walked, grateful for how warm you were. Grateful for the way you held me close. I tilted my head back against your arm and looked up at the holes of sky between the trees, watched the way the top of the sky was turning purple, and the long arms of light reaching sideways through the tree trunks had turned red.

I heard a small laugh, noticed for the first time small skipping footsteps on the other side of you and leaned my head forward, craning my neck to see a small boy, 3 or 4, jumping over the rocks and leaves on the road as had his small hand wrapped tight around two of your fingers to hold on and keep from falling. The familiar brown, curly hair, and eyes pierced my heart when he looked up at my face and laughed as he jumped over a rock AND a leaf at the same time, the laugh a small squeal of delight. I smiled back at him, laughing softly, and looked back at you, your eyes moved over my face, watching me, beaming. That glow of your smile more fitting, more perfect than the setting sun behind you.

That moment felt so real, everything accentuated. Everything seemed to burn itself into my senses. The weight of your arm on my shoulder, the twist of your fingers in mine. The way the wind was whispering strands of hair against my cheek, the streaks of dirt on the white of Max's little black sneakers as he kicked and jumped, the warmth of you and your smile. The trees and sunset reflecting in the dark of your eyes as you looked at me like nothing made you happier than knowing that I was happy, that you'd given me everything that I wanted, and that everything that I wanted was there in that one small moment. None of us said anything, words were superfluous. All that mattered was there, your hand in mine. Our small son laughing, beside us.

And the dream faded, cut out and something else took its place, like my mind changed channels, and it was shapes and a situation that I knew was a dream, and I couldn't recall colors or people or whatever else happened when I woke up, but I remembered that dream of us, of you. I wish you could have seen it. I wish that it had been real. Perhaps it will be, one day. Maybe not exactly the same... but close.