Pea soup dream

I drove sluggishly through the thick fog towards home. The shadows of Great Blue Herons become ghosts in the foggy white air, the bush where the Kingfisher sits watching for a twitching fish tail loams in the dark. I had to inch along because the fog was so thick I couldn't tell when the road turned and twisted except for the fact that I had driven this piece of road so many times it is etched in my eyes. As I edged up what used to be my driveway, the tire ruts disappeared into a mossy trail leading me to the thin light from a camp fire illuminating a circle in the dark. I could see figures squatting around it, absorbing it's small warmth, others strumming guitars which echoed eerily in the foggy night air. I wasn't worried, except that this is where I left my house only hours before and there was no indication it was still there! Instead, the wooden wheels of a gypsy caravan glinted in the dark shadows just outside the circle of the fire. A soft glow escaped the window in the caravan from a candle inside, smoke from the pot-bellied stove within merged with the fog and disappeared except for the smell of burning wood. Haunting music, jingles of metal and soft whinnies of horses bedding down for the night fill the air. The children sleep peacefully in their bunk, fresh air stimulating fantastic dreams. When the fire burns down, the embers giving little heat, the adults will all cozy into their quilted bed cubbies, throw one more log in the stove and close their eyes. I can't see anything as I round the bend and drive up the last feet of the driveway, into the spot I always leave the car. No music greets me, no wood smell or soft light of a candle. But I can always dream.....
You must visit here and see my dream home.