Blizzard Dream
The blizzard wind whipped swirls around the black mouse as it scurried atop the snow, finally slipping under the tiny crack at the base of a garage door. “Great,” Lou thought as she shoveled more snow off the driveway, “Now it will find its way into the house.” And that night—New Year’s Eve night—Lou dreamed of that black mouse, curled up and sleeping on a towel in the entryway—a towel she had put down to protect the wood floor from her snowy boots. In the dream, the mouse purred. And when the mouse awoke, it stood and stretched like a dog. Lou watched it from some distance. Was she even in the dream? Or was she the mouse? Dreams happened like that. And then she woke up—in the dream or from it—she wasn’t sure. Dreams happened like that, too. On New Year’s Day, she could not stop thinking about the mouse—black against the white snow—anxious to find shelter. The wind died down, and tree limbs brushed lightly against the windows. She closed her eyes and saw the mouse there—just behind her lids. “It has gone and crawled inside me,” she said aloud, not at all startled by the thought.
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