Last night I was soaring though the blogosphere and happened upon an article about dreaming by Ghazal of sparkonit.com. The article got me to thinking about a reoccurring dream I had as a child. I’ll try to be brief:
Two old farmers bearing resemblance to that Midwestern duo in Grant Wood’s famous painting, American Gothic stand atop a steep, dirt hill. Both the man and the woman grip shiny shovels. The environment is devoid of anything but the couple, the hill and a bright azure sky. Then from behind a giant tin can appears. The can’s arrival goes unnoticed by the elderly farmers. The monstrous can proceeds to fall on its side and out pour its contents of peas and carrots.
The round peas immediately begin rolling downhill. The square-cut carrots cannot. This is where things turn gruesome. The seemingly sweet farmers smile wickedly then begin running down the hill whooping and yahooing as they flatten the helpless carrots. The farmers’ boots squish and squeak as they trample over the diced orange cubes. The carrots are screaming.