Showing posts from 2018


There are times when all I remember of my dreams is the colour green.   Neither detail nor narrative survives my awakening, but a colour does.   And even that is not entirely true, for no single colour represents the green of my dreams.   I would not be able to stand in front of the walls of colour swatches, beloved by paint manufacturers and often raided by my daughter, and say, ‘That one.   That’s the green from my dreams’.   It’s not the livid lime green of Ash trees, spring fresh, growing on grey northern limestone.   It’s not the sheened English Racing Green of ivy, inch-by-inch destroying my fence, or smothering a building.   It’s not the smoky blue-green of Gum trees, fire prone and sweating oils in the summer sun. The dream green feels calm, but not passive.   It’s alive and moving, but so far it’s never been frightening.   Other things do wake me in fright, spiders mainly or loud voices in darkened rooms; but not colours.   The green is neither a distinct memory