Last night I dreamt that I went to my old house again. It seemed to me I stood by the wooden gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was blocked to me. Then, like all dreamers, I was suddenly possessed with supernatural powers and passed like a spirit through the barrier before me.
There was a house, mysterious as it had always been, with the white walls shining in the moonlight of my dream and the wide windows.
But the garden, our beautiful garden no longer existed. Nettles were everywhere. They choked the grass, they sprawled about the paths, they leant against the window of the house. I went to the garden, for the nettles were no barrier to me, a dreamer. I walked enchanted, and nothing held me back.
Moonlight can play odd tricks upon the fancy, even upon a dreamer’s fancy. As I stood there, silent and still, I could swear that the house was not empty but breathed and lived as it had lived before.
The house was a sepulcher, our fears and sufferings lay buried in the ruins.