Surprisingly enough, I had one last night. I remember it, although it really was less than memorable. I'm only writing it out to indulge emmabovary's curiosity and because I do happen to remember it and it sounds like an interesting diversion.
I am walking through some unidentifiable town, somewhere near the rural edge, where the buildings start to become sparse. It is afternoon, it appears to be summer, and the sun is shining, but there is no traffic, either pedestrian or vehicular. I walk out of town and down the road. Pretty soon, the buildings are gone and the road goes into a forrest and soon the trees overgrow the road. A warm breeze is blowing. Eventually, I come to a large Valley Oak, growing beside the road, and I notice that my walking stick is leaning up against it. I wonder how it got here. I go over to the tree and retrieve my staff and it is then that I hear the sound of rushing water off in the woods, so I decide to check it out.
Eventually, I find myself on an animal trail. I notice there are deer prints in the path. Since the trail appears to meander toward the sound of the water, I follow it. It comes to a large boulder roughly twelve feet high. At the boulder, the trail that I am following is intersected by another. Both diverge from this point, but continue on in the direction in which lies the sound of the water. I notice an old bear print in the path here. I'm elated, because I have actually never seen a bear print before, in the wild, in real life. I climb up the boulder to have a look around. At the top, I still can't see where the trails lead or where the water is that I am hearing, but I notice that I hear music playing now, and I can't really pinpoint from where it is coming. The music is Robert Plant's "Little By Little." It's an interesting phenomenon, but not really alarming, as music tends to happen quite commonly in my dreams and it doesn't feel unusual. I sit down on the rock to think about what I want to do, and I notice the smell of rain on the breeze.
That's where it ends. It's one of those dreams which tends to have no purpose and no real story -- just a pile of impressions and thoughts and imaginings stitched together into a narrative by my subconscious. I have a lot of dreams like that. There are certain elements which are typical for me. Music is one, as is the staff. I have a real walking stick like the one in my dreams, which I made out of a fallen limb at Salt Point State Park while camping with the family one year.