watering ovenbird In the dream the flowers were dead. So many fading heads, drooping from necks too weak to bear their weight. She watered them all meticulously, soaking crepe paper corpses without any hope of reviving them. “What do you think it means?” she asked. “Oh, I’m sure it’s just your brain generating random images. It probably doesn’t mean anything at all,” came the response. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” she said as petals fell from the stems of her eyes. 260513 what's it to you? who go blather from