From my dream: Monday, June 20, 2011
I visited the town of Yamata, California, a bright, colourful place. I was meeting some friends to introduce my lady to them over drinks, although the weren't people whom I recognized as friends from the waking world. We were meeting in what could be described as a hotel bar, although much more elaborate than that; when I asked a waiter what kind of beer they had, he came back with a menu and proceeded to describe their many beverages in great detail. In one section of the lounge stood a tall television that was broadcasting a live feed of what might have been a local graveyard, talland narrow headstones the colour of cast iron crammed close together, the music of Perotin playing in the background.
Next, I was outside, flying over a greenspace of some sort, watching the end of a wedding ceremony, the bride and groom getting into a horsedrawn cart and being swept away before the park slowly flooded. Some other friends who were now with me explained that the local river had probably overflown its banks.
Eventually we descended to the ground to say hello to someone who happened to be driving by. It was now night, and we were talking by the side of a road, tall grass growing along either side. At one point I felt something crawl into my shoe; I tried to kick it out, but instead startled a nearby frog who hopped away quickly and jumped into the front grill of the car. The driver of the car got out and rescued the black and white frog, while I removed an even smaller frog from my shoe.
As far as I can tell, there is no Yamata, California in the waking world. But there is in my dreamworld, and I would like to go back.