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The veil grows thin. Perhaps that is the reason for the dreams.

The winds are high. They began last night. White caps and cold feet, two sweaters.

A grieving friend. She lost her bestie at a Halloween party, a candle that had only just begun to burn. Her grief touched me, which surprised me at first. But then, I am not exempt from feeling heartbreak for someone I did not know, because I am human.

My father walked in my dreams last night in his old bathrobe, the one that made him look like a medieval monk. His back was to me, but I knew it was him. He said nothing and then he was gone.  Another dream in some other corner of night. The tornado is coming, there are children I do not recognize in my house, three cats, and my son. He is so young.  We are trying to hold the door closed against the purple and black spinning monster.  The door blows away. We watch the storm pass by, and the sky becomes magenta.  We emerge from the basement apartment. My neighbor is standing in a great field. His left arm is gashed, he is grimy and bleeding, he is staggering. We run to him, but he acts as if he does not know why we are concerned.  The tornado has dissipated in the blue gray horizon. Fiery sunlight is trying to pierce the clouds.  In the great field there is a lake. A crowd of people have come and they are fighting, and now we are trying to decide if we should go and stop them.  When I awake I feel drained because I feel like my father is warning me, or that something is not right. My fingers are cold as I type, and this needs to be a day of examination.

The neighborhood is buzzing with activity.  The veteran lady is moving herself out, one box at a time. I will miss her strong, quiet presence.  The maintenance man is quite up there in years, but he is built like Bruce Lee. Muscular bull dog feisty blonde spikey. He dresses in young men’s clothes. He never walks: his Chucks only hustle.  He was holding his stomach in front of my door and confided that it’s just the chemo, been in remission for 13 years, then he hustled down the hall, back to his never-ending projects.   Jesus Christ, woman, you think you have down days, just look at what this man accomplishes before you even get up in the morning!

There are no excuses in this world. There are plenty of grievances, and I let them get me down.  The veil grows thin.  What will I stitch upon it to let the souls and my dreams know I was there for them?