A few months ago, Esther Sibiude came by the studio to discuss an idea for a show she had about sleep. I'd been writing my dreams down for the past few weeks and was excited by her proposal -- especially since I'd just read somewhere that the reason we forget our dreams is, perhaps, because if we remembered them too clearly, they'd become indistinguishable from reality. Whatever that is.
Esther mentioned a few articles that had just come out about sleep too, one of which was ➚this one about dream sharing by Matthew Spellberg. It seemed like sleep was on a lot of people's minds, maybe because in the pandemic we all finally had a little more time for it. Or because, in the monotony of quarantine, sleep offered a reprieve from the interiority of our repetitious days by, ironically, bringing us even further into ourselves.
The segment materialized in the form of ➚Naps and Dust, a compilation of music, stories, and poetry evoking the world of sleep with contributions by Anna Pierce and Benjamin Scott, Millie Kapp, Celia Lesh, Colleen Billing, Lucia della Paolera, Justine Lugli and Esther Sibiude, and Megan Cline. Though I heard it when it aired at 9pm on the last Friday of February, I listened to it today as I rounded the final bend of my morning walk, with winter retreating and spring on the horizon. I couldn't tell at moments if the sounds I was hearing were from inside or outside. Was the chirping of the birds "real" or part of the recording? Were the buzz and hums from the cars and passersby, or from inside my earbuds? Walking with my head down, I started noticing all of these imprints of leaves in the cement. Soon they'll be in the trees. And then, gone again.