Dream 20021129, 7:15 AM:
I don’t remember what had happened before this scene; this is the end of a longer dream.
I am in a space that seems like a small theater, in a room adjacent to the seating area. There are archways across the opposite end of the room, and curtains across some of the arches. I think that we’ve just seen a performance.
Cynthia Dorn has come in, and brought me her crow to look at. It’s in an ornate cage that reminds me of an antique radio, with the arched top and a round hole in the front. She starts telling me that the crow is sick, and she wants me to look at it. I open up the door on the front of the cage and look in, and it’s this *huge* black crow, lying on its side on the bottom of the cage, with a little blanket over it, as if it’s sleeping. It gets up and walks out of the cage, very un-birdlike; I put my hand out and try to get it to step up. It won’t, and I tell Cynthia that she might want to try to teach it to step up, because even if it can’t talk, it ought to be able to step up. I finally get it to step up on my hand, and I look at my hand in profile, and I notice that my nails seem longer than usual. I make a comment that I need to trim my nails.
I’m looking at the crow as it sits on my hand, and it’s very large and lustrous black, full-bodied, like the size of a large parrot. It yawns and stretches, again very un-birdlike actions, but it seems to be fine. I ask Cynthia what’s wrong with it, and she says, “It’s been irradiated.” She doesn’t elucidate. I keep looking at it, and it looks fine. I don’t have any real suggestions. Then, and I’m sitting there with the bird on my hand, and it starts to lick my hand with its little flat tongue, just like a puppy, and I turn to Cynthia and another person who is here in the lobby, and say, “You know, I’ve never had a bird lick me wiht a warm wet tongue like that. I’ve had a bird touch its tongue to me and the tongue was warm and dry, but I’ve never had a bird with a tongue like a puppy.”