Thursday, December 11, 2008

Cold.

Last night I dreamt of large horses and long paths to beautiful gardens. Lots of green and slightly damp, water sparkled and sun bled into the sky. I enter an old, building, possibly a mansion- full of echoes and large lamps hanging from tall corridors.
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Our horses are parked outside and we're finely dressed. There is a cocktail party inside, filled with verboten appetizers that melt inside our rapacious mouths. The atmosphere is relaxed, haunting music is playing and the sounds of the guests turn into a murmured hum. The blood red sun is seeping into the large iron-trimmed windows, pushing golden rays through the squares and pouring onto the Persian carpet that covers the cold stone floors of this mansion.
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We get up to leave. Our horses are becoming restless outside and need to be fed. The evenings are becoming too cool anyway. We need to be home before the chill sets into our bones.
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We walk back towards the long corridor and I notice a white board in the hallway.
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I pick up the black felt marker and write:
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SUSI DORING PRESTON.
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INDEPENDENT MARKETING AND WRITING PROFESSIONAL.
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My heels click as I walk to my horse.

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