In this dream I was walking along a path of packed dirt and loose gravel. I felt the stones’ sharp angles through my shoes. A metal fence to my left with leaves growing through it. To my right a farm of horses like the ones I quickly drove past in Utah; the farms surrounded by fence posts made of tree branch and wire. At a distance the horses were larger than normal, their heads peaking at fifty feet or more, the neck and head twice as swollen as their chests and bellies; the ranchers tending to them, standing in their shadows, almost shadows themselves if not for the red from their shirts peeking through or the blue of their jeans, barely reaching above the unmarked hooves, moving about in the horses’ majesty. The horse I remember, a milk chocolate brown, tossing its head, a golden mane, shaking off mosquitoes or shaking its head at some sort of disbelief, then slowly disappearing behind green fields, greenery only allowed in dreams and tampered photographs as I continued down the path, feeling the stones sharp angles through my shoes.
Tags: American Dream, fear, subconscious
