For some reason, many of the migrants across the continental United States noticed that they often had strange dreams while on their travels. They would dream of strange things; large houses with fields and sunsets and families and friends and food. Things that in the countries they traveled from, they often didn’t have. They came from places of red, places of green, places of people and hardworking, and often unfairness. They came from hot places, loud places, and yet they dreamed of peaceful places, green places. 

For the few who managed to actually cross the border, most of what they saw was brown. For weeks their lives were filled with emptiness, traversing through problem after problem, mile after mile. In their pursuit of this dream, this ideal, their lives became empty for a time. They gave up their livelihoods, whether they wanted to or not, and joined an endless highway, an endless waiting list into a green valley. 

The nightmares that these people faced, just south of where they knew the sweet dreams would be, were becoming too much. Repatriation, as it was called, just a disguising of the terrible truth, the fact that they weren’t wanted, that their nightmares had to be endured. This repatriation in an attempt to turn them around, to force them out, back, away. The ones doing this tried to make it seem voluntary, that staying or going back home would be for their own good, but the people saw through the obvious lies. How would it be voluntary if their people were being taken off the streets, they were being forced under the foolish guise of free transportation back home? 

But with the problems masked behind their pleasant dreams, who could blame them if they gave up, stopped driving through the plains, stopped working for the white men in their plight to work for themselves. Of course, everyone dreams, for everyone sleeps, but the people could find comfort in the regularity of their lives, if only the times weren’t so difficult. 

But this resolve, this will to continue dreaming, set them apart from most of the people they traveled with, traveled through. They knew that they could cultivate their land, just as they cultivated their dreams. 

In a way, however, this temporary break also came as a relief, instead of worrying about the authority of the government, families could worry about keeping the dog off of the highway, or keeping the little ones entertained. The parents were still concerned about finding the next meal or place to stay, but now that these things had already been taken from them, they weren’t concerned about having those things ripped from them. They were concerned with the security of their dreams. The promises that had been made to them, made by them.

The lands that the families traveled to said that they were afraid of losing their jobs and their money, which in itself is a kind of irony. The people in these lands had their own dreams, and they were fortunate enough to continue dreaming them, but they should have the right to conserve the dreams for themselves. Only they could cultivate the dreams, even though it was a land that promised to fulfill everyone’s dreams. It was a land that was supposedly brimming with them.

Unfortunately, the ones who already contained the dreams, who had a jump start on taking it for themselves, knew how to guard them. And worse yet, with the destruction of the crops, with the sun hidden behind the sky, they had an even greater excuse. The dreams that anyone could see, but only they could have. This country was called a melting pot, a collection of cultures, but clearly these ingredients were guarded, just as the oranges and grapes were guarded against the hands of hungry families. 

The fields remained empty for a time. Instead of weary travelers, dust filled the air, accompanied by tired farmers, burdened by the responsibilities that they protected. Those who already had the opportunity to work through lineage had to deal with raids, as those who were denied also had to. In this way they were similar. Everyone in this place was part of a group, looking for work, meaning, purpose, dreams. They operated under the idea that dreams could be shared, that all were equal. Just as had been written when this land was founded. 

And in this way, history repeats itself. One fights against the other, looking for some right that they are being denied. Freedom is won, and new work and autonomy are created by the now free people. This is just as when previous dreamers in these lands fought for freedom against the ones across the ocean, the families whose elders fought against a similar country and won their independence, they now sought to make more land their own. 

The dreams continue. Dreams of ceased fighting. Of food, greenery, peace, family. Of large houses. Fields. Sunsets. Families. Friends. Foods. 

Thoughts that soon, these dreams would be theirs.