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On a jutting but stable part of the cliff, I see one of the trees, and through its dry branches and leaves, a man’s face. He’s a grown man, but the face is plain and almost childlike, smooth and hairless. He seems distant, never quite looking directly at me, but calm. For a few moments I watch him, not wanting to disturb him, but then I remember the task of the month and my desire to interact with him and see what he says or does overcomes this reluctance. “May I have a present?” I ask him, a little hazily, and he turns his head to look almost straight at me, but not quite. The next moment, without words, he holds something out towards me. I accept it, thank him, and look more closely at what he’s given me. It appears to be a fillet made of some kind of meat substitute. It looks dry and unappetising but I suppose I should try to eat it anyway.
The outside is a little tough when I bite into it, but the insides slimy. I chew, and look at what’s inside — I see pepper, onion, and what I think are tiny pieces of raw ham. It doesn’t taste as horrible as it looks, like cooked pepper with a faint hint of a meaty taste, but I’m really not sure why I’m eating it anyway and starting to remember the next task, so I forget about it and move on over the cliffs again, not wanting to try closing my eyes yet but liking the idea of trying to find a place where it’s snowing.
Flying along the beaches, before long I come to one that is covered in a thin layer of snow (and the snow is still falling, slowly) — and beyond that two adjoining beaches which are covered in a much thicker layer of snow which stays there as I approach, despite it being right next to the sea. As I get closer to the first beach, though, thinking of the snowman, I realise that there are already snowmen there, apparently forming themselves. There are many of them, and some of them are beginning to move. Since it doesn’t look like there’s much space to make another, I fly over to the next beach.
There’s space here but as I land I become aware of the shuddering noise of footsteps on the ground — at the edges of my vision I start to see passing figures in snow and realise that the snowmen on the other beach are still forming themselves, getting bigger, even leaving the beach now. Hurried because I feel that the dream is going to end soon and like I’m losing control, I start to form my own snowman, easily scooping up the snow into his shape rather than making him in the normal way. He forms much too easily and quickly, partly by himself, but I think I can say I had at least some part in making him. For some reason he’s wearing orange gloves (which I guess he formed himself, because I didn’t put them there.) I stretch out my hand towards him and he shakes it with his own orange-gloved one. He looks confused, and as though he’s trying to look over my shoulder. The footsteps come closer. The dream wavers, and then fades.
