I had a dream about an old friend. It has been years since I last kept in touch with him. It is not that he has gone somewhere distant but our lives have moved on to different directions. And we were content with that.
In my dream, he told me he was leaving for Haiti. He had studied French and his brother arranged for him to work there and assist with the relief operations. As we said our farewells, I saw images of bodies buried under rubble, the bronze faces painted white with dust and debris.
And then I saw a group of young Haitian girls in their school uniforms. Some of them giggled as they chanted a song while walking through quiet and tortuous streets. Their song meandered in my mind long after they passed. Lingering, even as I awoke to a melancholic early-morning rain.