The old house again

In the old house again, with an old man, packing things up. For once it was easy, most things were already packed neatly away. I was putting several pillows into a large bag. There was a sense of completion.

Bleak and hopeless fragments

I've had a few dreams I've avoided describing. Some I can still remember parts of, one I made deliberate efforts to not remember. In one dream two young princes were killed, the mood was bleak. In another one person was attacking another by stabbing him with tiny pieces of wood pulled off the door-frame of the small room they were in. The wounds were superficial but painful. The one who was being attacked had a look of shock and horror. All I have left of the one I made an effort to forget is a mood of flat hopelessness.