Tons of Baggage

Saturday night, my last night in San Francisco, I dreamed that I was wearing a long pink skirt with tiny wild flowers on it and a thick pink, cable-knit sweater, and I was carrying tons of baggage as I walked through a desert towards a beach with an ocean. The baggage was extreme but not too heavy for me to manage. I was tall and large with medium-length long, windblown hair, a femme Amazon hippie. I looked sort of strong and like I had been withstanding the elements of varied weather. My luggage was on my back. I was carrying my luggage as well as my family’s bags, so the packs extended down my back. They were light gray. Ahead of me a smaller, more modern girl walked, with a much smaller backpack. We were friends. The desert was vast and expansive with rolling sand hills, quite beautiful and mystic. There were no other people around. I went into the ocean with my pink clothes on, and it felt great. My friend was with me, though we kept a slight, pleasant distance. She was thin and petite with a mini-skirt and black shiny boots. She had long, straight, silky Chinese hair.