I had a late night last night waiting up for my husband to get back from Brussels; he’d set off before midnight on Thursday night and had endured the journey from hell, so I wanted to be sure he was home safe before I went to bed. This meant that we could sleep in this morning, no alarms, and I often find that the dreams I have on this sort of morning are both memorable and interesting.
I dreamed I had found two injured birds and had one in each hand. I have quite small hands and though neither bird was big, it was hard to hold them without crushing them. Each had a duff wing, but as I held one, I realised it was getting better, so I allowed my hand to open. I expected the bird would either fall to the ground and still be unable to fly, or for it to fly away completely. It did neither. It fluttered a short distance away and then it came back to perch on my shoulder. I don’t know what happened to the second bird as I woke up then.
Now given what is happening in the waking world for me, I can only take this as a very positive dream.