A dream of Lyon.

The other night i had another dream, a very fragmentary dream. This time i was in Lyon, so i was told in the dream. Lyon is a city i have no connection to whatsoever, i've never even been there. I remember walking around in endless, vast, palatial marble halls, like those at the Grand Central Station in New York.
I got inside a house in the dense city and out on it's backside, then there was no trace of the city, there was an endless, verdant garden. The garden-facade of the house was completely covered in honeysuckle and boughs of wisteria, i walked in the tall grass and buttercups. In the grass lay scattred sun-bleached plastic toysm a ball, a doll and a watering can. I waded on through the grass and down a gentle slope, i looked out over the magnificent landscape. Fields of golden ochre interspersed by dense, fantastically lush woods and finaly in the horizon, the glittering, blue sea. But no trace of the city.
In the next fragment i was balancing on some railway tracks above blackened gravel between steep sides covered in lifeless grass, thistles and weeds. Then i was suddenly chased away and ran for my life.

Then i was going to a gala opening at the opera and i was going to escort this old countess, and elegant old lady with a shiny satin eveningdress and strands of pearls, her thick, grey hair in a tight chignon. I was also similarily dressed upp, we walked arm in arm through the grand marble-foyer of the operahouse, upp and down broad, monumental stairs. The countess' box was on the right side of the auditorium, had a gilt Louis Seize- sofa clad in a striped silk-damask in purple-stripes on ivory white, all other seats in the auditorium were in deep burgundy-velvet. The auditorium was packed, we sat down and the display commenced. My best friend sat on the balcony opposite, surrounded by her other friends, and waved eagerly.
It was a strange vaudeville with a 70s disco-accompanyment. Giant dancers in sequinned leotards on swings and trapezes, and with big, hysterical smiles in a bizarre mechanical dance, they changed size all the time, like soapbubbles or as if they were inflatable. The salon was also moving, balconies switched places, twitched and turned like a rubik's cube.

The next thing i remember we were bouncing gleefully down the steep, broad front stairs of the opera. Then it was snowing, as in the old day's winters, millions of little snowflakes fell over the big town-square outside. Then i woke up.