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Dream fragment
Nov. 25th, 2003 11:28 amLong and fairly convoluted dream last night. Here's the bit I remember:
I'm at an airport, with Alex, waiting for a connecting flight. For some reason this airport provides beds -- large soft beds with quilts -- in the waiting area for the comfort and convenience of airline travelers. I'm taking advantage of the bed to catch a nap, because I'm exhausted; Alex is sitting on the edge of the bed reading a book
And we hear singing. Quite nearby. As follows: "Make it one for Washington and all his gallant men, / And one for the girl who once was mine...." By the second line half a dozen voices have joined in. By the time they reach "And don't forget the Blacksmith of Brandywine!" I'm out of bed and singing along, and we're both looking around frantically trying to find where it's coming from.
Where it's coming from is a lounge of sorts opposite our waiting area. And there they are. Filkers! A good twenty or thirty filkers, some with guitars out, in a ragged circle around the lounge, with their luggage piled up around them.
And we hurry over to join the circle, and there are exclamations of welcome and hugs, and somebody asks me where Lady Mondegreen is performing next, and I'm somehow not the least bit tired anymore. And we sit down to sing until our flight arrives.
...*sigh*
We really ought to have a housefilk sometime soon.
I'm at an airport, with Alex, waiting for a connecting flight. For some reason this airport provides beds -- large soft beds with quilts -- in the waiting area for the comfort and convenience of airline travelers. I'm taking advantage of the bed to catch a nap, because I'm exhausted; Alex is sitting on the edge of the bed reading a book
And we hear singing. Quite nearby. As follows: "Make it one for Washington and all his gallant men, / And one for the girl who once was mine...." By the second line half a dozen voices have joined in. By the time they reach "And don't forget the Blacksmith of Brandywine!" I'm out of bed and singing along, and we're both looking around frantically trying to find where it's coming from.
Where it's coming from is a lounge of sorts opposite our waiting area. And there they are. Filkers! A good twenty or thirty filkers, some with guitars out, in a ragged circle around the lounge, with their luggage piled up around them.
And we hurry over to join the circle, and there are exclamations of welcome and hugs, and somebody asks me where Lady Mondegreen is performing next, and I'm somehow not the least bit tired anymore. And we sit down to sing until our flight arrives.
...*sigh*
We really ought to have a housefilk sometime soon.
