Morning of November 22, 1969. Saturday.

I am only about two inches high or smaller. I am with a female classmate, Linda (I think on the weekend within my dream as well). We are sitting in a "giant" nest playing house. It seems to be mostly made of Spanish moss. A few “giant” raindrops fall but do not endanger us (we are under a larger branch in the tree in the northwest corner of the West Elementary playground). There is a very blissful, timeless feel as well as a slight awareness of winter beginning. At one point, I seem to move into and around the scene, as if I am flying but disembodied. It is incredibly vivid. As was often the case, I felt a very strange sense of nostalgia, even for things that were seemingly visually completely new to me, or so it seemed. This idea may be related to having a lot of the “same” dreams you do not remember in any way, and then having the “same” or similar dream you do vividly recall for some reason.