I dreamt of the woods again. Those are such happy and peaceful dreams. It seems like the rhythm and movements are slowed to an almost frozen state. The air itself seems slow and heavy. Not heavy in the way that burdens you, but just swaddles you into some careful warmth and presses gently into your skin. It was a sunny day, and everything was starting to wake up. It was a dream of spring, and a day of life warming up and beginning to come above ground.
The trees, the deciduous trees had started to get red at the tips, so you looked through the mass of branches, and the red hue lite up the tops of the trees but it was such a nice color. My eyes knew that this was the sign that the trees knew it was almost time. The world was getting ready to wake up and the trees were pushing into the air and testing the weather. Not ready for green, but shoving the red growth out. The reverse of fall, and the green turning to red, the red would turn to green.
The ground was soft. I remember feeling it on my feet and i can’t see if i have shoes on and if i do, why can i feel the ground so clearly. The ground is full of dead leaves that have broken down mostly to dirt, and sticks and covering everything is clover that is still small and not fully grown, and moss. Moss seems to cover the ground in so many waves. It looks fluffy and soft. The raised spores are ready to burst. They are taking the waves of water and ready their spread.
Someone has a cinder block here which doesn’t make any sense. A cinder block like the ones you make cheap walls and barriers, but this is just one. Sitting alone in the woods. Not placed, just sitting. It must have been out here for a long time, it looked like it was getting worn down by years of rain and wind. The moss was covering the top and edges, and sat like a green roof on the top of a tiny house. How can you put something like a feeling of air into words that mean anything to anyone who wasn’t in the dream with you? I need better ways to pull these feelings into words. Something that has more echo than what I can do now through these thoughts.
Even the name Cinder block. Cinder seems like a crinkly word. The sound of crisp crackers breaking, but of stone. Maybe the sound of ice frozen beyond freezing and then being broken into pieces. Or something like sticks being crunched together, or charcoal from a fire being smashed. That high broken sound. like material that is sharp and breaking and pushing against each other. The name seems to have that same sound. Maybe it is the Ci sound in Cinder, the sound of something crunching.
Even in my dream, i have frozen in this place before the block. Just staring at it, and wishing that I could follow back the stone to who left it here. What it is here for, and what it will be and do after I leave here and leave it behind.