A dream of decay: Print.

The other week I dreamnt:

I'm outside a house where I live, and it's snowy but the snow is melting and dripping dirty snow from the roof, and all of the melting snow water falls into lines under the eaves and kicks up dirty drops from there, and some of the drops are flying inwards and spattering the siding on the house.

And, propped up on a chair outside the house is a print that was given to me by the one resthome resident who wants to die, and I look, and even though it's kind of roughly thrown in between sheets of paper that look like crumply sides of a paperbag, I pull it out and there's black smears across the front of the print, and I know that I can't remove it and I can't fix it, and that the print is ruined forever.

My father is there, and I show the print to him, and he asks what did I expect to happen with my leaving the print outside the house on a chair, and I say I didn't expect it to snow so soon.

And then, I wake up.

. . .