Chicken Dinner

I see an old-style kitchen. While there is a table in the kitchen the people entering the room have not eaten there this evening. The man places his gravy-soaked plate on the bench, a blue bench, with subtle white flecks. The cupboards have white wooden doors with those little round grid vents in the doors about a quarter from the top.

The man leaves the room while a woman tidies up. She scrapes the remains from her plate into a bin and repeats the process with the man’s plate before shuffling them into a stack, cutlery on top, for later washing.

To the side sits the carcass of a chicken on a serving dish, grabbing the gravy boat the woman pours the contents into the carcass still flush with meat. It over balances and rolls off the plate and into the bin below. She scraps the serving plate before adding it to the stack of dishes and the leaves the room.

Usually when all people have left a scene I stop seeing it, but just now it persisted. I could see the kitchen in detail, the table in the middle with its red top and metal frame, and all the utensils they have, including knives. The linoleum floor also red but a fainter shade. Too much to write here.

As usual this wasn’t a dream, I saw this just as I closed my eyes. Keeping my eyes closed as the scene played out and delaying its fading as long as I could as I took the scene in.

I don’t know the people who were players in the scene, though I could give a detailed account of their appearance. Besides the scene remaining after the people left, the other major difference on this occasion was the style of the scene. Usually they feel “live” as if I’m looking through someone else’s eyes at something happening in the now. This one felt more like a review of a memory.

As always, I’m grateful for the experience. It’s not something I hear others say they do. I’m not claiming that it’s a “special power” but I don’t have an explanation for the level detail and the way these things play out. The places, the people and the scenes aren’t mine. Maybe I just have an over active imagination. In one way they are dream-like, if I don’t write them down as soon as I open my eyes the scene starts to fade and details become lost.

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