poppies, poppies

Why is it so impossible to log a dream unless you write it down immediately?

What I remember from last night - that's not too laundromatic to repeat - is that at one point Mike and I were walking through a sloping yard, not unlike at my parents', and there were the most wonderful patches of white flowers. So soft, so welcoming, so completely fashioned from toilet tissue. Life with hamsters is taking its toll.