Lost

Lost

         He's staring at me as though I might have mustard on my face. Where am I? I don't recognize anything!

         I'm in a beautiful, parklike forest with sunlight filtering through the trees and dappling the ground in front of me. It must be autumn for leaves are everywhere.

         My dress is so old-fashioned with lace at the neck and cuffs and blue ribbons down the front, and it goes all the way to the ground. I'm holding onto the ropes of a tree swing leaning my head on one side for support.

         The man is asking me something, but I can't understand what he's saying. I think he's French. A little girl, who looks to be four or five years old, is standing beside him next to a tree; and another man with a beard is looking at them from behind the tree. They all are wearing strange clothes and straw hats.

         The first man, with eyes that are kind but perplexed, starts to reach toward me. I must look frightened because he stops midway.

         The little girl stares at me, imploringly, and begins to speak. Her words are incomprehensible, but one does ring out loud and clear, "Mama!". The man shushes her fearing I might faint, I think.

         Now I can hear women's voices behind me. I turn slightly and see several ladies in animated conversation, all wearing long gowns and hats. They are having a good time and don't seem to notice our plight.

         I do feel faint and put my hand to my face, but it doesn't feel like my face or my hair. I hear a loud noise and everything goes black.

         I come to with a start. I'm in my bed, and my alarm is going off. It takes a few seconds; then, I realize I had dreamed my way into a beautiful painting I had seen at the museum the day before.


325 words

Renoir's The Swing, 1876
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