Last night I dreamt I saw a few Emperor penguins on the sidewalk as I was getting out through the back door of a supermarket. There was a half-dozen of them, next to the stalls of the fresh food market, not far from a small fountain. They were standing in the shade of the stalls’ curtains, between piles of watermelons and oranges and bunches of bananas. They had been gathered there for a campaign on climate change.
As I was talking to the lady from this environmental group and she was telling me how the animals had been freed from some zoo and would not suffer in the city as long as it’s winter, I was patting the head and the back of one of them.
Everything in this dream – its colors and lights, the meaning of the conversation, the touch of my hand, the sound of the fountain trickling behind, the smell of oranges and bananas – felt exceptionally neat, concrete, and stunningly logical. It was a very strange dream, because it didn’t feel strange at all.