Yeah, yeah, the last time Ted Hughes spoke to me was when I was in a completely ridiculous graduate writing program in San Francisco, back in '94. (And the man wasn't even dead yet. I wrote him about that dream, and he wrote me back. I framed his response, and I still have his card next to my desk. Hughes died of cancer in 1998.)
Last night, in 2015, I dreamed that I was flying with Ted Hughes. I was scuttling around some sort of town festival, worried about having to go pee. Ted Hughes came wandering along and grabbed my hand and we stepped off a cliff -- not a drastic cliff hundreds of feet down to the sea, but a maybe 20-ft cliff. And we sailed on down. We were both smiling after we landed. But when we landed, I still had to pee and I was still complaining about THAT. After just having flown.
I didn't wake up feeling great, though I should have. Hughes doesn't appear to me very often (TWICE exactly in my life), but when he does, I believe it's serious. My Spirit Animal.