Friday the 17th

I had a long night walk along the river in an atmosphere that someone could have created for a werewolf or a vampire movie, getting more and more spooked further away from the city. All the time I heard a little owl hooting, like the night before my grandfather died many years ago.

I wonder how many percent of my childhood dreams can't become true anymore just because they were impossible anyway or the time for them to become true is in the past already? At least - I've got a horse of my own... Maybe that was my only childhood dream anyway? (apart from marrying Elvis Presley, or later on, becoming an Eremite).