Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Lately I have been dreaming of cats, of letting a new stray in each time I open the door, a tabby and a tiny gray kitten and a big fluffy white cat, regardless of my waking indifference to the race of cats. Dream literature is, perhaps unsurprisingly, expansive on the subject of cats. According to my dreams, everything both good and bad in the world is about to descend directly on my head. (Awake, my friends have been leading their interpretations with uncharitable comments about my taste in men.) Still, some say that dreaming of a stray cat at your door is a sign of good luck, and I will take all of the positive omens I can find, just in case one of them turns out to be true.

Usually at this time of year I dream of daffodils, opening up their yellow throats to shout so loudly that the stars draw down near to listen. Daffodils are pretty universally believed to mean optimism and hope and renewal, the favored child of the genus narcissus. Daffodils should never be given singly, since this brings misfortune into the house; even the flowers know that we should always hope in bunches. In my dreams they yell and yell until the whole world stops and waits, until we gather them in our arms and carpet whole rooms in gold.

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