The Wee Hours

Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, I had a strange dream.

In it, the strip of grass along the sidewalk in front of my house had been removed. With the grass missing, an underground storage area of sorts was revealed, and in this area were things from my childhood — things which, in the dream, I recognized and reminisced about.

When I awoke, I thought back to the dream and recalled some of those items. They really were ones that I had when I was growing up.

I’d forgotten about them long ago, and I couldn’t begin to explain why they were in my dream. Some were dolls and their related accessories, while others were objects — like a tiny tube of lip balm that had a unique cap, and a hair clip that I remember wearing as often as possible.

Maybe the dream was nothing more than a random occurrence. Or maybe there was more to it.

Maybe it was telling me to work less and play more.

Perhaps it was saying that for as much as I look to the future, the past is what has shaped us and shouldn’t be forgotten.

Or maybe it was just telling me to clear out a couple closets and have a garage sale.

Whatever the reason for our dreams, I like to think that each one of them comes from something deep inside our heart, our soul or our head — or possibly all three.

Tonight I am thankful for the sense we can make from the seemingly nonsensical, and for the reminders our past can give us as we look forward to our future.

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