The farm stretches for miles in every direction. It is flat and yellow. The ground is yellow, the sky is grey, and reflects the yellowness of the ground, and even the house is a faded yellowish brown. It is not dull, but brilliant, constantly changing shades and warming, from reddish orangey yellow to warm brown yellow, to cool grey-yellow. But always yellow, except for the trees. They are the crop. They are tall and slender and bright green at the top with fruits that hide under the huge outspread leaves.
They all decided that it would be cool to move into that faded farmhouse and maybe fix it up. They didn’t really know how, and the farm was so far out of any city, but they were friends, and they had the money, and they wanted to just get away. So they moved in and started to live there. There were four of them. At first they had these big ambitions–of getting the crop to be profitable again, of turning the faded yellow of the house into a bright cheery color again–but then they realized that it was already beautiful. They also realized that they didn’t know how to accomplish those dreams. So mostly, they just sat outside on the large patio around a big table made out of wooden planks and talked and drank and ate together.
Eventually, other friends found them and came to visit. It was sporadic, only one or two at a time, but it increased their number and their sense of belonging. Something was wrong with the trees though.
The trees wouldn’t grow. They stayed exactly the same all throughout the year. Always tall, always slender, always green, always fruited, but never changing. They began to wonder if the fruits were edible. They tried to harvest them and found that they weren’t fruits at all but huge colonies of bees.
The bees lived inside the fruits, now fossilized. They lived on the moisture of the leaves. They never left their nests, but when they saw the humans invading their trees, they began to formulate an attack plan.
The four friends quickly retreated into their house. The bees would not follow, but they heard noises, every day, from the tops of the trees, until one day, as they stood on the front porch of their safe, yellow, home, they saw it. A huge black metallic flying machine, buzzing buzzing buzzing from the treetops, buzzing toward them and buzzing away toward the cities….
And then I woke up.
Yeah, that’s right, I totally dreamed that last night. Here is a list of things that I think caused my brain to make up that dream:
– The song “Dirty Paws” by Of Monsters and Men
-This exhibit on Australian Aboriginal art at the Toledo Museum of Art http://www.toledomuseum.org/exhibitions/crossingcultures/
(Here is a picture of one of the pieces.)
-Reading Orson Scott Card’s short story that was a retelling of the Oz books by L. Frank Baum
-Reading The Count of Monte Cristo. (ok, you can’t see this from what i wrote above, but in the dream, everyone was dressed in early to mid 19th century clothes, and they were all nobility….i wasn’t sure how to incorporate that in the retelling of the dream.)