poetry • art • marriage • momhood • faith

Dreaming in Color

It used to mean something different to me…

Probably about a week ago, I woke in the morning, heavily impressed by a dream I’d just had. This was odd for a couple reasons: first, because I had not had a memorable dream in quite some time, and secondly, because I wasn’t remembering what happened in the dream. In fact, I don’t think anything did happen in the dream. What I remembered: a massive Celtic-like design in sage green, two different tints.


This morning — or maybe it was last night — I had a similar experience. This time, it wasn’t green. It was mostly black and violet. Again, there was no “plot” to my dream. Instead, it was a place, but more so, it was COLOR. I don’t remember anything about the space except that it was a room. The color, again, was what impressed me: The walls were black, and there were spots of violet and fluorescent pink, as if the only light in the room was a black light.

Again, odd.

I’ve always dreamed in color, but it had not been the primary focus until now.

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torch bearing quietly

I will not act out, will not
yell or curse or slam doors,
will not make a scene -- you
do not deserve such a chance
to make an example out of me
to be proven right since you
are not. Instead, I'll stand
at this street corner, raise
my hand high and clench that
light which yet remains. It
will burn brightly, quietly,
fiercely before fading as I.

Then I'll be gone but found.

©JAC 2005

Poetry by Julie Ann Cook!

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