dream babies

I dream a house. It’s a hull. Sodden, rotten, windows and doors are just holes. I’m re-visiting: there was a time when I lived here. It’s changed utterly.
To leave, I walk down a slope. It is covered in black slippery leaves. At the bottom of the slope there is a gate, and trees, which are dead. Two saplings have fallen across the gateway. In death they have metamorphosed. Now they are dead babies wearing wedding gowns and lace veils. My companions cannot see this – I am the only one who sees the trees’ alternative form – to the others, they are just fallen saplings.

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