I have a hat that was given to me several Christmases ago by one of my daughters.
It’s a black Timberland hat that’s soft and stretchy and feels good on my freshly shaved noggin.
I wore this hat to bed the other night because it was a bit chilly.
That night, my head was filled with dreams, hence the name ‘dreamhat’.
I’ve worn it a few times since and the result has been the same: numerous dreams.
I’m thinking it has something to do with the heat generated by wearing it but I can’t say for sure.
I had a dream that was a bit sad, maybe a bit telling as well.
My nocturnal playground was shrouded in a gossamer like fog as I walked into a dimly lit library. I saw her immediately, bent over a book, studying.
I stood there not wanting to disturb her and just watched in silence.
Lately, I’ve been missing my oldest daughter and feel that to be the catalyst responsible for the dream.
I stood and observed for what must have been a millisecond of what I understand to be forever. Shadows danced on the walls lined with books and there was the unmistakeable sound of a distant and muffled piano.
Her voice shattered the crystal silence that hung heavy in the library.
“I know why you’re here but you have to go.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you have to let me go for a while,” She said.
“But I don’t want to.”
“I’m never far away, you know that.”
I felt myself being drawn away from her, unable to stop.
I wanted to say goodbye but my mouth wouldn’t let me form the words.
I was a frozen man wearing a silly dreamhat.
The dream leaves me standing alone in a thick fog, unsure of where to go. . . confused.
Shreds of memory still linger hours later but seem disjointed and outlandish.
The forecast says it will be another chilly one tonight giving me another chance to wear my hat and another chance to dream.