Residue of Dreams

Sometimes, even though I cannot remember my dreams, the silty residue they leave behind colors my day.  At those times, it feels like the night's emotions were somehow mixed with the dust I raised on the dream road, and the whole mess deposited just out of sight on the edges of my eyes.  When no clear images remain of my night-side journeys, I still sense shades of my encounters lurking just beyond my solar-powered vision.  Like all good haunts, the silt ghosts want something from me, in this case the chance to tell their stories.  They are specters grown out of frustration, dissatisfaction, and a lack of resolution.  Until I take a minute to wash, and really clean away the sandy leavings from my eyes, daytime feels tinged with roiling mist, as if at any moment I might get sucked down into the muddy currents of the dreaming once again.