Morning of August 2, 2015. Sunday.
There is a small hill on the side of a larger hill sloped down to my left with a single tree growing on the top and a small cave within the smaller hill that is slightly to the left at first. Looking more closely upon approach, tree roots hang down from the ceiling of the cave. This creates somewhat of an unusual impression that I cannot put words to. It gives me pause to think that, even though the tree is possibly very old, many of its roots are exposed within the cave, even more-so by anyone who wants to mess about in the cave. In fact, I even get the impression of an unsavory character looking around the side of the hill to my right.
Going partly into the cave though mostly staying by the entrance, I discover that the roots are actually not roots, but the trunk of some sort of miniature exotic tree (possibly a fruit tree of some kind). The top of the tree is in fact very green and I now see that the roof of the cave has nothing hanging from it as was seen just previously. Now I think that this special tree may even be more vulnerable than the tree above (even though it is unlikely it would have flourished in a dark cave as such) as it is seemingly much younger and certainly smaller.
However, it soon dawns on me that I am, in fact, in the cave myself (rather than looking in from just outside) and am looking out at a normal-sized tree in a field that is a fair distance from the cave, as I realize I am looking at a blue sky from my viewpoint rather than the dark recesses of a cave. (There is a brief sense of deja vu relating to something about commentary on dream journals, yet I cannot quite focus and I am in no way lucid and the idea of a dream journal, especially a digital one, falsely seems somewhat abstract and “out of reach”). I am wondering if I should feel vulnerable now that I am in the cave and am not sure if I should exit. I do not really focus on the illogical changes of perspective and imagery and placement that I would otherwise just enjoy in light sleep paralysis (during the speedier imagery before it slows down enough to “enter” when a more interesting setting or location appears).
When I was very young, I played near a recess in a hill on Chipmunk Coulee, though the “cave” was not very deep. I remember at least one photograph where I was sitting in the area, which is probably with at least one relative now. I remember the unusual perspective I had at that age (which carried over into some later dreams) of being “between worlds” just by sitting within the entrance (part of me outside, part inside).