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The last dream this morning was of the desert. Not really a dune desert...more like a very arid country in the summer months. Dry grass, wind and dust. A lot of people. Graffiti and houses inside the ground, in the rock. With spray-paint graffiti. Like a rave in the desert. And people go in the graffiti caves, but I know there are wild dogs in there. Rabid dogs, a pack, like the ones in India, howling and going mad in the night. There's a lot of light out, the air is dry, I smell the dust.
And I wake up and I have no time to think about it. There's a lot of light out. I dash out of the house to have breakfast with my parents. Easter tradition.
Almost there, I pass by a playground. A crow's call, higher than the music in my earphones, gets my attention. I turn, and they're both there, the cat and the crow, one on the ground, the other just landing on a high branch. And the cat leaves through the back gate, but the crow stays. Perfect profile, black against the new spring green.
I think of my dream again, of the dogs in the cave. Of the light.
