Here be dragons

I'm in my front garden, talking with a friend. It's sunny and the grass is almost neon green, the leave of the hedge shining. The breeze is warm, making my dress dances around my legs. As we talk a man in dark clothings come to the open portal and start talking about christianity, going on and on like a drone or a broken record, spewing aged nonsenses and franckly, offensives shit. It's hurting my friend and pissing me off, so I start telling his the more dirty, filthy things I can musters, in all the languages I know. He flees and I turn around to my friend with my biggest smile. She looks rather shocked, and it makes me laugh. I check the mailbox, in case the man put a pamphlet in it, and instead of that I fond a big pot of golden honey and a box of almonds. I shake the bow and the almonds rattle sharply, then I open the pot of honey. It smells wonderfully, it's a wild flowers honey, thick and shiny. I scoop out a handful, letting it flows between my fingers. Then I walk in, bus istead of my house it's my mother's place. The table is full of clean laundry, so I drop the box on the bar, alongside the honey pot.

... Once again I miss the more obvious dream sign ever. *shake first*