“I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight
What may not bless my waking eyes.”
~ Anne Brontë, Best Poems of the Brontë Sisters
Last night my dreams were all of owls.
The night sky was filled with them.
They watched me from every tree.
They followed me wherever I went.
I was not frightened of the owls. Instead I felt that finally I belonged. Their watchful observation made me feel safe.
Dream after dream, there they were. Eventually I flew up into the night sky with the owls. Auntie was there. My old Grandmothers too.
We flew through the dark night, watching the world below us. It seemed the most natural thing in the world.
I woke briefly, feeling happy.
My last dream was not of owls but Wandjinas – the great spirit beings of the Kimberley. I cannot remember how it ended. Only how it began.
This morning I can feel a shift inside me. I have a sense of waiting, of anticipation. There’s no hurry, but I know with every cell in my body that something is coming.