March 7th, 2025

I visited the house last night in a couple fragments. It was more fantastical than usual. I began the visit in a sort of theater, with dark oak paneling on the walls, a small stage, and parquet tiles covering a central area, like a dance floor. There were windows opening to a blue sky and I could hear the sound of waves as a low rumble far distant.

I moved through an archway into an adjoining room which seemed to act as a connector. I paused, the room was small and there were shelves covered in pots and earthenware vessels. It felt like a larder, though the room itself wasn't more than a six by ten feet in dimension.

Through it I moved into another large room of similar character to the theater, though there were fine couches in small alcoves and it gave the feeling of a hotel ballroom. Through an archway I saw a vision of the sea, and passed onto a balcony.

I would say this was the locus of the night's visit. I passed onto a balcony of light colored wood, maybe birch or larch, which overlooked a vast, roiling sea. The sound of waves escalated from a low murmur to a constant presence, and I could spy out from the balcony their sea foam crests coalescing and dissolving in great swaths.

The colors of the scene were extremely vivid. The water of the ocean was cerulean blue, leaning more to temperate than tropical, and there was a pleasant breeze, like those of the late spring in my native New England. Despite my waking aphantasia I can almost picture the glints of speckled sunlight on the water.

Scale is very difficult to pin down in dreams, but the balcony seemed to be many hundreds of feet above the water, and the extent of the house was massive.

"My beloved" was standing on the balcony looking out over the sea, her elbows and forearms resting against the railing. She was wearing a long white sundress with a kind of grey lace hem separating the bodice from the skirt, and had a slender, somewhat lanky build. Her hair was blond with bangs, and her face had a slight sharpness to it. Her cheekbones were high, her jaw somewhat narrow, and her nose was thin and slightly down-turned. As I approached she turned from the sea to face me, again leaning against the railing. She gave me a bemused look.

"House is a mess," she said. Images are hard to recall but whenever there is any dialog, or unusual sounds in these visits, I can recreate them down to the tone.

"What happened to your hat?" I asked
"Wind took it," I think there was a slight drawl to her voice
"That's why you wear the strap,"

She shrugged and made a gesture

"You know it doesn't look as good with the strap." Her voice was playful, though perhaps slightly mocking.
"I suppose not"
"If only," she said, leaning slightly forward and smiling, her voice taking a conspiratorial tone, "we could exchange some of your head 'bigness' with my head 'smallness.'"
I laughed, "of all the things I can do, that's isn't one of them... Do we just have to wait for it (the house) to get back into sorts?"
"You'd know better than I would, maybe find the others and work this all out"
"I'll do that. Have you seen the dogs, they must be having a blast."

She perked up at that and stood straight. Her dress ruffled by the breeze

"The dogs! Yes I'll go find the dogs. Someone needs to shepard them while you get this sorted."

I was aware, at that moment, that the names of our dogs were Jonas, Tibalt, Catarina, Ophelia, and Falstaf.

The dream lost coherence