My dream home is an elusive place. Sometimes it has absolutely no walls, though I can clearly sense being on the inside of something. And then there are the doors--playing "Waiting for the Sun"--and windows that occasionally turn into mist and/or open to nowhere. Oh, and last week one window opened into the next one, and the next one, and... But it only happens when I have a run-in with my dream man and he wants to scalp me. My dream home is a composite of houses I have been in and ones I have never seen. If there is a garden, it comes with apricot trees blossoming under piercing blue April skies and a tangled patch of grass which nobody would equate with lawn. My dream home is a busy place frequented by motivated guests. If things get tight, I take flight--just need to avoid the high wires all around the neighborhood.
