An arm of Lethe, with a gentle flow
Arising upwards from the rock below,
The palace moats, and o’er the pebbles creeps,
And with soft murmurs calls the coming sleeps.
Around its entry nodding poppies grow,
And all cool simples that sweet rest bestow;
Night from the plants their sleepy virtue drains,
And passing, sheds it on the silent plains:
No door there was th’ unguarded house to keep,
On creaking hinges turn’d, to break his sleep.

—Ovid from Metamorphoses, Book XI

Good morning, good morning! I hope everyone is well rested after their long winter’s nap! I, myself, have been doing quite a bit of dreaming recently. Nothing bed-shaking, mind you. But enough to go a long way in recharging the batteries.

While I haven’t been writing those dreams down—and truth be told, I don’t recall that they were much by way of narrative—they have been coloring some waking projects that I’m currently endeavoring to undertake.

But now that the dark winter is seeping to a close, what dreams will color your dawning spring?