Lingering ice floes drift casually down the Muskoka River, soaking up spring sunshine, enjoying their last ride.
LAST NIGHT I had a dream.
I dreamt that the world discovered my blog and thousands of people were hitting it, one after another.
The ticker tape machine attached to my computer was pumping out a steady stream of names and comments from people who stopped by and said wonderful things about my incredible writing talent.
In the subway was a billboard with a picture of me as a 20-year-old on it proclaiming my blog BEST BLOG OF THE YEAR, with little stars all around the words.
When I woke up, I felt like it was Christmas morning.
I had a smile on my face.
I made coffee and then turned on the computer.
I whistled a bit.
I clicked on this space, expecting something glorious, only to see there was nothing new.
In fact, only one of my regular blogging friends had bothered to stop by and leave a comment.
My smile faded.
It was as if Santa had left a lump of coal in my stocking.
Do you know what it's like to have a dream so real that you wake up with a smile? Or a scream? Or desperate, desolate tear-drenched grief?
I know you know.
There is a fine line between wakefulness and the deep slumber of the twisted, inner soul.
And all I can say is this: thank god for Folger's.