Sometimes I dream about UFOs. I dream that I am on the patio here or inside watching out through the windows. It's always nighttime and the stars are bright in a clear sky. When I have these dreams they are so real and vivid I wake in the morning convinced they actually happened. Which does make me wonder: was the sky above my house visited by other beings?
I had another of them last night.
In this dream I was on the patio with someone - was it G, was it Mum? I can't recall. We were watching the sky over the top of the Michelia which is currently growing above the height of the balcony railing, when I noticed a thin shape with 5 bright, starry lights in the sky in front of me. The shape itself was dark, barely discernible from the sky around it. It was a disc shape, thicker in the middle and quite sharp and thin on the ends; your classic flying saucer.
Then it began to move west, and somehow changed shape to be something bigger, chunkier and wedge-shaped. The tiny star-like windows became long rectangular windows glowing gold. There were little lights or windows on the top and bottom of the craft. When it moved off, it was at the speed of a jet aircraft coming in to land over our house (we live on a flight path), so it wasn't going terrifically quickly. We watched it head west-south-west and out of sight over the neighbour's roof. It was low in the sky too, not much higher than the jets who lower their landing gear over our house. But much, much bigger than any airliner.
It felt so very real. In my dream, I started thinking. I was aware I WAS dreaming, but also thinking that perhaps I should wake up and look out the window. In the end I stayed asleep.
The rest of my dreams last night were also on the weird side, if occasionally amusing. Many years ago I owned a 1983 BMW 323, and in my dreams last night I still did. It wasn't my daily driver, it was more like a car I was restoring. My daily driver, Minerva, must have been in service as I was driving a big clunky 1980s Ford Falcon which I believe was a loan car from the service people. I was trying to reverse the Ford out of the garage without hitting Bimmer, but I couldn't. I bumped poor Bimmer's front wing, very gently though, leaving not even a dent. Bimmer took offence and drove itself out of the garage, swung hard left and onto the lawn, where it sat churning its rear tyres crossly until smoke started to come from them.
I begged Bimmer to stop and calm down, and was also thinking of my lawn - the poor buffalo grass has an ongoing fight against being taken over by rubbishy grass, and now it had car tyres ripping it up! Bimmer was upset, though and wouldn't let me open the door and turn the ignition off. It took off across the lawn - westward, like the UFO - and did a circuit of the house somehow and entered the street via our neighbour's right of way. Then it tore off, with me running up the hill after it calling, "Come back!"
I was standing on my lawn, feeling bereft, when Steve H, an actor on whom I had a crush when I was eleven or twelve, walked down the hill and up my path, onto my lawn and stood beside me. He looked 25 still, and his longish dark hair was tied in a ponytail. "What do you think of my hair?" he said, indicating the ponytail. I touched it. "It's so soft," I cried. We were standing in front of the garden at the base of the chimney, which was planted out with the plants I put in a couple of months ago.
"Your BMW is back," Steve said, and Bimmer was - but had been converted into a ute! A little white BMW 3 series ute! The car drove into the neighbour's drive across the road and ignored me. Like a disgruntled cat, it had chosen a new home. Steve and I watched it. I called it but the car resolutely ignored me.
Then I was opening letters. One was from Dan the Man in Can(ada). Talk about visiting the past in my dreams last night. Dan's letter had photos of people at a beach, a northern hemisphere beach somewhere… there was no writing on the back. There was one photo taken from the top of high dunes of a crowd of people walking by the water's edge. It was overexposed and sunshine flooded it; it looked deliciously warm to this sleeper on a chilly Sydney autumn night. Then one of Dan himself. Then one of Dan with a girl who had long blonde hair. And another of the couple. Dan's letter was a chat-up letter, but how on earth he expected me to react positively to him when he sent photos of him with another girl was beyond me. Dan always did have an ego. And yes, it was Dan as I knew him, younger Dan, as I was younger too in my dream.
I remember an adventure type dream as well, but not as clearly. I was running through dunes to a beach myself, but it wasn't Dan's beach and I was on some kind of mission. Was I a private investigator? Possibly. I've been reading too many PI books lately. I was tailing someone, someone whom I didn't know. However, that dream didn't stick in my mind as strongly as the others I had last night. I also dreamed I found some of my short stories I wrote as a child, principally about my favourite tv show Follyfoot, and one of them had been printed and bound as a one-off. I was stunned; we didn't have the money or knowledge to bind one of my stories as a leather-covered hardback. I read some of it; it was rubbish; awful writing, but then I suppose I was only about eleven when I wrote it.
I wonder what tonight's dreams will hold? I suspect I may need another blanket on the bed!