Dreamlog: The Woman at the Forge

I had this dream a night or two ago. I recall thinking, either in dream or in a moment of wakefullness after it ended, that I should remember it; but by morning most of the details had faded from memory. All that’s left is this:

I am again in the field of my childhood, featured in so many of my dreams. It’s broad daylight. Before me in the field a woman stands at a forge. It’s an iron forge, of the portable variety used by blacksmiths at exhibitions, and it stands between me and her. I remember very little detail about her, but I think she was slim, tall, beautiful, with a noble and stern demeanor. She is forging something, but I can’t remember what.

Here’s what sticks out in my memory. The fire is not confined to the forge. Instead it swirls up, eight or ten feet in the air, a whirling gorgeous column of multi-hewed, semi-transparent flame. And instead of being only in front of her, the flames surround the woman. But they do not burn her, they only glorify her.

That’s all I remember, but it was quite a picture.

EDIT: It didn’t even occur to me until I was discussing the dream with a friend, but the place where she was standing was right around where we once found a wasp’s nest in the field – a nest that we destroyed with fire.

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