My beautiful old friend Roman was there. All of us traipsed through the downtown-somewhere setting that I occasionally walk in dreams. We were late for something. We didn’t care. We were going to go into the new mall (the same one that’s been a setting in my dreams for ten years – the place that I’ve seen in person, and it’s up here in Alaska of all places) and try the new ice salon that’s so hot (ha, ice, hot) right now. So we do. I get my brows waxed and the others get their hair cut. There’s a real ice sculpture on the ceiling, like a rolling wave, and faux ice beneath our feet. It’s all crystal and blue ice and Sigur Ros on the speakers and we’re in heaven.
The dream book I got on the Border’s budget rack says that to dream of a salon means new ideas. New things. Change. It also states that ice means frozen emotions, but I didn’t get that at all from this dream. All I got was the beauty of the ice.