Last Night I Dreamt Of Joni Mitchell

2 Jun

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Last night I dreamt I met Joni Mitchell again.

We were in Carmel-by-the-Sea, the tiny artist’s colony up north.  The town with the white sand beach and the fairytale cottages and the 100 art galleries.  The town where Robert and I spent our one-year anniversary.

Joni was wearing a jumpsuit when I first saw her.  Teal, navy and seafoam blocks made patterns across her legs.  The material was polyester, the pants flared.  She wore fuzzy socks with her black Birkenstocks.

That was because of me, surely, for I have learned the only way to wear Birkenstocks is with a flamboyant pair of fuzzy socks.

Joni gave a concert by the side of a stream.  In the middle of tall, yellowed grasses and matted, tangled weeds she sat down and pulled out a guitar.  She talked to us, those waiting eagerly to hear her sing.  Her speaking voice was very specific, about as unique as her singing voice–hesitant and warbly, soft and high.

I can’t remember ever dreaming so specifically about a voice.

She sang for us by the banks of that river, the one that reminds me of the river by my home in Utah.

My worlds all melded together for Joni.

When she was done singing, she and I headed back to Carmel.  We didn’t speak about it, but soon we were running as fast as our feet could carry us, running through dense forest and foggy skies and smoky air.

Running through the smells of Carmel, the ones Robert says he found in a tea.  “It tastes like Carmel,” he says, handing me a bag.

Joni was strong and fast.  I tried to ask her about living in Carmel, about what she thought about Big Sur.  Her answers were brief, said to end the conversation.

I marveled at the strength of her legs, the pitch of her voice.  I marveled at the rocky cliffs to our right, jutting into dangerous waters.

When we got to town we headed to a restaurant.  Joni stood separate from me, up on a slight grassy hill.  I sat under a twinkle-lit terrace with the other customers.

Joni told the owner that she wouldn’t pay, she would simply do her own dishes, and that she didn’t want dessert, she simply wanted a little brown sugar on the bottom of her peaches.

We didn’t speak again, Joni and I.  I just watched her on her hill, in her wild outfit and her wild socks, with her abnormally strong legs and her soft, recognizable voice.

She didn’t look at me again.

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One Response to “Last Night I Dreamt Of Joni Mitchell”

  1. Bailey Brewer June 3, 2015 at 8:20 am #

    Cool dream.

    I recently dreamt I kissed Gerald Ford. Except he was a hybrid of George Harrison. So he was George Harrison Ford. He sang to me about the Valley as he kissed me. Between kisses, I guess.

    My BF thinks I need to tell my therapist about this.

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