We have new neighbors. They're a band--I hear them practice. Pretty good! And as a composer I'm intrigued by the vocals--three sisters sing complex harmonies, and they'd be ideal for some of my songs.

Late one night, one of the singers knocks on my door. A blonde in a flowing gauze nightgown. Acts like she's sleepwalking, but in her hand's a small antique valise. She says "Here are my sisters," and opens the case.

She told the truth. There they are.

The were-rat sleeps in a nest of paper shreds, in a simple chamber. But her little sister, the weremouse, sleeps in the heart of a labyrinth--no branches, just a long convoluted passage few predators could thread (only a very patient snake!) leading at last to her nest-chamber of shredded paper.

Their big sister adds, "Sleeping as rodents in here saves us a lot of motel money, on roadtrips."

Well, that makes sense. As the main roadie for our band, I'm always looking to minimize size, weight and expense.

But that labyrinth... really, what use is it? Anyone who opens the suitcase is (from a rodent's view) prying off the roof. Predators can reach right in over the maze-walls.

But then, the sisters can turn human, grow, fight back.

All three sisters have attracted me--well, in their human forms. Rodents just don't do it for me. But I wonder. Does their sister the roadie transform too?

And if so... into what?

NOTES IN THE MORNING

• Night, blonde in gauzy gown: I think this dream's a tribute to the Belgian surrealist painter, Paul Delvaux, obsessed with night scenes, empty streets, sleepwalkers, pale women in pale gowns, tram & train stations, lamps & candles, skeletons... He's a bit like Chirico plus Victorian nighties. My dream felt like Delvaux, so to illustrate it, I tweaked his similar painting Chrysis, which I saw in David Larkin's book Fantastic Art half a century ago.
• Small sibling creatures nest in a suitcase: a different book from my childhood: Tove Jansson's Finn Family Moomintroll. Siblings Thingumy and Bob, innocent little kleptomaniacs, slept in a dresser drawer. They stole the world-ruby...
• Rodents in mazes: well, rodents run mazes in labs all over the world. To associate them is natural. But why are they here at all?
• Rodents: six months ago a couple of rats raided our house for several weeks. Like Thingumy and Bob, they stole food, and finally, inexcusably, gnawed the face off my unicorn--a soft-sculpture dream-figure I'd sewed. The dream may be warning "They're baaaaack!" Yet in the dream I'm on their side. Huh?
• Useless labyrinth, since thieves'll come over the walls: hmm. The dream says some elaborate defense is useless. But what?
• Case: I have two sisters, one rather blunt, the other more labyrinthine; each has some medical problems, so is this about their 'cases'?
• The vulnerability of the roofless maze inside the case: is this about Trump's assaults on political freedom, economic stability, healthcare? He certainly manages to find weird angles to attack... well, everyone.
• ACTION: I'm baffled, really. Except that the dream wants to be painted... as a Delvaux.

I looked up Delvaux online, but couldn't find a good copy of Chrysis. So I searched my shelves for the old book Fantastic Art, where I saw Chrysis fifty years ago.

Yep, I still had it. The plate was a bit washed-out and yellowed, but color-correctable (right).

I digitally painted in the valise and gauzy nightgown to better match my dream.

Then I wrote the notes above. Found I still didn't really get two key elements--why sisters in a maze?

For no conscious reason, I flipped deeper into the old artbook...

Five plates past Chrysis, I found a surreal painting I didn't recall at all--Robert Vickrey's The Labyrinth, below. The picture notes say:

For a long time nuns--as ambiguous symbols of innocence--have fascinated him; he was particualrly intrigued by the habits of those of the Order of St. Vincent ("I couldn't understand how their hats were constructed") and when they adopted modern dress, they made a tiny but precise copy of the habit and clothed one of the artist's daughter's dolls for future reference.

Surreal roofless maze? Check!

Gray-clad 'sister' inside? Check!

Doll-size? Check!

Oversize 'ears'? Check!

Why? Just to show it can. When I was studying predictive dreams, shared dreams and lucid dreams, I got examples of those types, but also dreams commenting on them. I argue in Fanfare Foreseen that I'm not alone in this; well before Freud, there are examples of dreams deliberately showing researchers what they can do--just to prove a point.

I'll revise my interpretation if a rat gnaws my nose next week.

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