dead head and crossroads

Two dreams:
A head was on the table, lying on its back, facing the ceiling. The head of a man my friend used to know, she told me. I picked it up and looked at it. He looked to be in his fifties. He had good skin for his age and an honest face. He had a beard. I turned the head over in my hands and found it was flat at the back, as though it had been sitting on the table a very long time and had, over time, flattened. I stroked the face of the man and noticed a tear escape from the man's eye and travel down his cheek. I was surprised and, feeling for the man, I spoke to him. He opened his eyes - blue - and asked me to sing him a song. The song that came to mind was a chorus I'd learned in church as a teenager. So, I sang him the song and he cried.
I was walking across a road flanked by tall trees. Although I couldn't see it from where I was, I knew I was walking toward the ocean. I became aware I was being watched and looked up into the branches of the trees to the northern end of the road. A pair of Wedge-tailed eagles perched there, and one of them flew at me, swooping down close to my head, before rising and landing in a tree south of me. The other eagle followed, diving down and narrowly missing my head, before flying up to meet its mate in the tree down the road. Suddenly, there were two more birds - a pair of griffon vultures - perched in the trees to the west of the road. In the same way, they began, one at a time, swooping me, flying down, close to my head, and back up to perch in the trees to the east. The eagles and the vultures kept swooping me and, for a while, I was stuck in the middle of the road, covering my head, not knowing which way to turn to escape. I began to run south, although I wanted to go east, and as I ran I dipped down to scoop up a handful of damp sand, which I shaped into a ball, planning on throwing the sand at the birds as they rushed at me. I looked up behind me and saw the first eagle flying, but it was tangled in a string of bunting flags. I was both relieved and concerned for the eagle; although they seemed intent on harming me or driving me away, I wanted the birds to be safe.

feathers

My father had soft yellow feathers on the soles of his feet. Not stuck to his feet but growing out of his skin, sprouting like the plumage of a luxuriously fluffy bird.

insectile bird

A tiny bird, the size of a matchbox, flew through the window and circled the room. Featherless, it resembled a robotic bird, an insect, more than a bird. It whirred musically, mechanically as it flew. A flesh pink insect ten times its size snatched at the bird flying past. It scuttled after it, legs needling air, desperate to clutch it, to eat it. The bird hummed past, erratic, frantic, until it escaped back through the open window.

birds

I was sitting high up on the front verandah of my first house, the family home where I lived until I was eleven. The cement was old and cool under my legs and the old metal railing enclosed the space. Trees stood tall around the verandah, so that some branches reached over, almost to where I sat. An elegant white, blue and black bird, as big as a hen, flew down onto the verandah and sat quite close to me, close enough that I could reach out and stroke her silky tail feathers. I was amazed at her trust. A pair of crows circled around and perched on a nearby branch, content to observe the scene. Then another pair of birds arrived. The male was magnificent: ruby red, emerald green and sapphire blue designs embroidered his plumage and his chest was broad and strong. His beautiful mate was soft grey and white, a smaller and more delicate bird. She flew onto my right shoulder and nestled her body into the curve of my neck. I placed my hand upon her and felt the light weight of her body. I immediately understood that she wasn't well and that her mate, who watched me intently, was entrusting her to me, that he had brought her here to regain her strength.

birds

I was standing in a natural pool of blue-green water – a lagoon. The water was very calm and although it was clean, it was not clear; I could not see through it. B was standing on the shore close by, occupied, with her back to the water. I looked up to see a bird perched on a branch overhanging the water, watching me. It was a vivid green parrot with a red stomach. I said hello. The bird regarded me for a moment before flying down and landing on the water. It floated on the surface of the water, enjoying the swim. It called out and many more birds arrived, circling down and landing on the water. Most of the birds were brilliant green but some were ruby red. We were calm. Suddenly one of the birds decided to duck dive under the water, but once under, the bird panicked and tried to flap its wings. The weight of the water in its wings prevented it from coming back to the surface. A few more of the birds dived under before they realised what was happening, and they too began to drown. The other birds flew into the air and away in fright, perhaps a hundred birds screaming and flying into the sky. Some birds stayed to try to help their mates, diving into the water to retrieve them, but they too became waterlogged. Once the birds were under the water, I couldn’t see where they had gone. I quickly scooped the water with my hands, trying to retrieve birds from the water before it was too late. Sometimes I would find a bird and a couple of them flew away, but a few dived straight back into the water, looking for their mates. I called out to B to help me and she jumped into the water. We were both scooping the water with our hands, fighting time to save as many of the birds as we could. I scooped out one of the ruby-red birds, which remained perched on my hand, looking at me. I could feel her feet clutching my finger. With my left hand I scooped out two more red birds that were already dead. They were wet and heavy in my hand. B and I stopped. We realised that it was too late to save any more birds. It was quiet and I knew that the red bird’s mate was dead. Her eyes were filled with tears.