Last night I dreamt about Serbian guerilla fighters in a muddy field beneath a looming cliffside containing a network of caves. The sky was cloudy and overcast, and it was all damp and probably drizzling. I was in the field, dug into the grass and mud, and then I was inside the cliffs with the soldiers, who were all dressed in blue uniforms, tramping through the tunnels, talking about Skopje and strategizing about some important mission there.
M. and I. were in the caves with me. They’ve been on my mind recently, and M. comes from a European country but is decidedly not Serbian. Apart from that tenuous link, I have absolutely no connections to the Balkans.
Sometimes, a weird dream is just a weird dream.