Lessons From the Yeti

The dream starts the same as all my others have; I am searching for something. As I gaze into the mass of trees, I am filled with confidence, with the assurance that what I am looking for is hidden behind this green curtain. With my head down, careful of the intricate roots, I do not notice how the scenery changes until I see my breath suspended in the air. When I look up, I see snow covered ground, trees with sparkling highlights, and delicate flakes who fall only to get caught in my hair. I hear branches snapping and before me emerges a giant shape, seven foot tall with a curious face.

The Yeti freezes and looks at me and I feel compelled to confess "I was not looking for you." It relaxes, nods, and trudges past, leading me. I follow it and ask, "Is it lonely up here?" It stops at the edge of the snowy cliff where we overlook a town below. Breaking the silence it replies, "Sometimes."

As we look down at the town, laughter, joy, and warm orange light pours from the windows, spilling into the dusk, cutting though the silent snow, and reaching us. Close enough to feel the warmth, but too far away to be held by it. I turned to my companion, but it had left no footprints in the snow.

When I wake, no memory of it will remain, only the tears on my cheeks and the desire to hug my mom.