Last night I had the strangest dream. I was in an old house. Made of stone like a castle with large beams and sections of wood throughout, it was large and stately. There were several immense stone fireplaces throughout the building for cooking and warmth. I remember my mother and step-father were there as well as others, but they are the only two that I remember specifically. We were in the Great Room and the fire was blazing. Suddenly there was a strange sound in the room and my step-father said that the chimney was on fire, everyone throughout the house had to move outside for safety’s sake.
The fire was large, blowing from the chimney in swirling red flames, lighting up the night with showers of sparks flying everywhere. Nearby was an immense old oak tree with one large arm sticking out into the night, an “owl hole” noticeable on the side facing me. A spark flew into the hole and started the old dry wood on fire. The flames increased and eventually the arm of the tree fell to the ground sending up a curtain of sparks, but the rest of the tree remained standing.
We rushed over to the area of the tree and underneath covered in moss and debris was an round stone pedestal rising from the ground. At this point I knew that the house we were at was my grandfather’s and that the stone pedestal was a creation of his. I tried to verbalize this to the people around me, but there was a man who was older, a teacher-like figure, crawling around on the flat top, which was quite large, brushing away debris and tracing lines that ran through the old granite, explaining as a scholar would the significance of the stone, but explaining that no one really knew the purpose. I tried to explain several times that it was designed by my grandfather and was similar to a carousel, but the man would not listen and ignored me because I was a child and he knew better than I. Finally I gave up trying to speak and waited.
Eventually the man crawling around on his knees spouting his “knowledge” and tracing the lines came to a square block on the far side of the circle with a cross or an x carved into it, such as you would see on the old stone property markers found in the corners of New England fields. As he was expressing his curiosity as to what this piece was doing here, with no visible tie to the patterns of the other lines, I pressed down on the x and stood back.
The circle of rock began to rise from the ground shaking off the moss. People jumped off its surface and stood to the sides as the rock began to move in a circular motion. The lines the man had been tracing were demarcations and as the rock turned cog-like sections began to pump up and down
“Oh,” the people whispered and breathed. “Look, it moves like a carousel.”
I stood off to the side and smiled. Then I woke up.