Lockdown Dreams

I had too much to dream last night. In those first weeks of Lockdown, especially, people around the country reported their strange excess of dreams.

A dream story from Dalston Writer's Group regular Yvonne Lloyd

Lockdown Dream 1

I dream of a temple of the imagination, of echoing chambers garlanded with words, of tomes to elevate me from the confines of my London Fields flat and transport me across oceans and continents to distant lands. I dream of tales of long forgotten heroes and villains and life in a far-off future on a remote planet. I dream of being the curtain twitcher, of being led behind the scenes to a cast of characters, the complicated folds of their lives unravelled in enchanting prose.
I dream of palms skimming the carved banisters as I ascend the temple’s spiral staircase, excitement barely concealed, each winding step taking me nearer to this hallowed hall of imagination. I dream of bookcases stretching all the way to the horizon, reaching from earth to sky, row upon row of novels bound in a kaleidoscope of clashing colours cascading from them. I dream of burnt orange, deep turquoise, buttercup yellow, fuchsia pink, ebony, leathered brown books all covered in exquisite designs. I dream of picking from the groaning shelves well-thumbed volumes as thick as loaves with epic tales of the intimate drama of strangers’ lives. I dream of slender books with crisp compelling tales spun from a few carefully crafted words. I dream of accompanying detectives into the crooks and crannies of of Hackney as they unravel dastardly crimes. I dream of being a fly on the wall in the court of Henry VIII, witnessing the deadly games of politics and power.
I dream of an assembly of writers, of evenings spent wedged in around a crammed, neon lit table in the temple’s gabled roof, awed by the miracle of wreaths of stories woven out of invisible golden threads from the far reaches of the imagination.
I dream of the reopening of CLR James library!