Last night, I dreamed that I was chasing grasshoppers across a dry field of tall grass in which all of the grass was laid nearly flat in a single direction. The grasshoppers were the red-winged sort that click-click-clicked as they sketched away. I could not catch a single one of the hoppers, though I flailed and grasped at them constantly.
They confused me.
For some reason, I never managed to focus on a single grasshopper. I kept veering here and their, always lighting out after the next one to shoot up, clickity-clickity, into the air near me. I soon found myself running against the grain of the grass, which only forced more hoppers into the air. After only a little of this, an undefined desperation overcame me, and I stopped solid there in the field, panting. Hoppers churned in the air around me, clickety-click-clicking, flashing red. Some of them struck my arms and face. I stood there with the hoppers all around as the dream faded.
Today, I am hoping that dreams are without meaning.
--Mitchell Hegman
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