Sheol dreams

I slept all night but in and out of nightmares.  Maybe it was the wind change, the fever that has clung to me since YadvaShem.  The warming weather.  The cool swim at En Gedi, and the hot walk high on the sides of the wadi.  I dreamed of a colourless world, trapped in the Lovers Cave, high in the wadi with the stone man.  I dreamed of cold, windswept mountains high up and near Syria.  I dreamed of cavernous dwelling places, and striped rough cotton cushions, rams horns, rocks piled into rows, and circles, chipped and broken mosaics.  All this whirled around me as I peered wildly out of the Dodim Cave guarded by the bearded semitic king carved into the cliff by the wind.  This morning I am exhausted as if I walked across the Negev in my sleep with the images of the Shoah walking with me, dread companions.  Tired and throbbing in my temples.  There were no crabs, conies, or ibex in these dreams, no doves, canaries, swallows.  No black ants, and no red dragonflies.