I am strolling with a couple of genial male companions, talking about life. They are well-read and their humor and imagination are in fine working order. One of them is very like Mark Twain.
We are all smoking pipes. I greatly enjoy the flavor of the mild golden tobacco I am smoking in my pipe. When it burns down, it leaves very fine white ash.
I wake just after 3:00 AM with the taste of that pipe tobacco still in my mouth. I am surprised at how sweet and pleasing it is.
I haven't smoked a pipe in nearly four decades. I did smoke pipes as a student and junior professor, but found that they tended to leave my mouth dry and my throat sore. Also, when I gave way to temper, I had a habit of chomping down so hard that I snapped the stems.
I am always interested when senses other than the visual come strongly into play in dreams. My taste buds were very active in this dream. The other interesting thing about my pipe dream is that I rose with clarity and energy to charge ahead with a huge job of work I'd been putting off. I sat down at my desk and labored without pause for nine hours.
A "pipe dream", in common parlance, is an idle fantasy or vain hope. But I found that a pipe dream provided energy and focus for entirely practical matters. No, I will not take up pipe smoking in ordinary life. But I wouldn't mind smoking some more of that golden tobacco in my dreams, especially if my golden-tongued companions include Mark Twain.
Graphic: René Magritte, "Ceci n'est pas une pipe"