The Dream at the Edge of the Pond
Hey everyone.
This one’s going to be hard to explain. But I’ll try.
When Dreams Feel Too Real
It started like any other night. I had my favorite birding guide under my pillow (just in case), my noise-canceling headphones on my nightstand, and my window cracked open for fresh air.
Then I was there.
Not in my bed.
Not in my house.
But standing in the Nature Center, where the pond stretched wide and glassy in the moonlight.
Only… it wasn’t like it is now.
A Place Before
The pond was bigger—almost twice as big. No fence. No footpaths. Just marsh, cattails, and trees taller than I’d ever seen. The air smelled green and wet and wild. I saw a fox slip between the reeds. I heard frogs chirping like tiny engines.
And then… birds.
Hundreds of them. Warblers, orioles, herons—our heron—circling overhead and calling like the sky itself remembered something.
Then I saw her.
The Girl in the Mist
She was standing in the shallows, barefoot, wearing an old-fashioned dress that moved like water. Her hair was long and tangled. Her face was soft and sad and shining.
I didn’t feel scared.
She looked at me, and though her mouth didn’t move, I heard her voice.
“This place knew peace. This place gave life. Until they forgot.”
She pointed behind me. I turned.
Where there should’ve been woods, there was a line of bulldozers. Silent. Still. Waiting.
The ground trembled.
I turned back—but she was gone. Just ripples in the water.
Waking Up
I shot awake.
Still in my bed.
The birding guide was on the floor.
But my socks were damp. Like I’d stepped in dew.
Maybe it was a dream.
Maybe not.
What It Means
Eva thinks it was a message. Not just about what’s wrong now—but about what was right before. What was sacred. What was lost.
We need to understand her.
Not just what she wants to stop.
But why she won’t rest.
I’ve been thinking: maybe this isn’t about saving a playground.
Maybe it’s about remembering something everyone else has tried to forget.
✌️ Ember