Morning Meds; 2 3 22
I dreamt I was running.
I was watching myself run, knowing it was me, running up a soft hill through someone’s backyard.
Reaching the front of their yard, I turned east onto a sidewalk.
Flash, I see the same scene again, across the yard, up the hill, the eastern turn.
I realize that this is at least the third time I have repeated this trip.
I feel a determination to get past this point and not repeat it again.
The scene changes, I am looking north up a steep hill, maybe sixty degrees incline one hundred and fifty yards to the top.
The hill is covered with small trees, but right in front of me is a fresh cut path three to four feet wide straight to the top.
The path covered with the stubble of the cut trees, each about three inches above the ground.
The stubble is straight cut more like they were sawn than chopped.
A small ditch from erosion scars the center of the path, but no water is flowing down.
I thought, I will have to watch out for poison ivy and leaned forward to take the first step of towards jogging up the hill.
There are times in our life when it seems like we are not making any progress.
The dreaded rut becomes our accustomed route.
Winters pass slowly for me; I am always grateful for spring.
It is refreshing to know that new routes have been made available.
Even more refreshing to be shown through a dream.
We are unconditionally loved always.