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I went through an avenue of trees this morning which was cut across by a railway line, then continued on the other side. I walked up one of the driveways and saw the house at the end. I've had a good day away from the usual things.

I dreamt that I was sticking up notices on windows with green frames in a corner of a square. In the street was someone I went to school with who I barely knew at all and a tall man singing in an incomprehensible language.
There are often these street-like courtyards in my dreams. One time I had a meeting with someone in a vast square of gorgeous old buildings which backed onto a park. I cycled from busy streets into the square and waited for them on a low wall.
More recently I was in such a square in London specifically, waiting for a wedding some hours away. Nicely-dressed people moved awkwardly around, waiting. A dog who I miss very much watched from the shade. Everything was still and quiet, in anticipation or apprehension. There was a bookcase in the middle of the street, stuffed with books that were falling apart. The deterioration was deliberate; they weren't very old books at all. I was having a conversation about them with two people older than me who held champagne glasses, but unfortunately I have forgotten which book it was that I took from the shelf while I spoke.

On my way back home it was getting dark, I looked into the warm glowing windows behind black garden railings at the old faces at their desks.