Friends and strangers
Had a nice dream this morning. The plot would be dull in detail even if I could recall and recount it, but the gist went like this:
I was a wanderer, moseyin' on down the road on my own. I stopped to rest in a big old mostly abandoned barn. And then by ones and twos, friends and strangers started showing up.
Some of them started cleaning the place up, some started making things. One or two started making some food. People brought in furniture and furnishings. One friend started mixing drinks out of whatever she could find on hand. I wandered around chatting with people and laughing, and before long, the abandoned barn had been transformed into a functioning restaurant, full of light and life and good food and drink and lots of happy people, including a bunch of good friends of mine.
Even as I woke up, one little part of my brain was pointing out that this didn't make a very good story. The plot ignored a vast range of implausibilities and impossibilities, and the protagonist (me) didn't do anything.
But the rest of my brain was aware that it wasn't a story, it was a dream, and a very nice one. (And the plot is basically the "Stone Soup" story, more or less, sorta kinda.) I woke up happier than I've been in a while.
The feeling didn't last long; reality intrudes, as always. But it was nice while it lasted.
