Right now I can remember two, though one has already faded almost entirely.
In the other, I was at work, listening to a CD level_head had sent me. I was listening to it for the the second or third time, and one particular track, track 8, kept catching my ear. It was all skirling fiddlework against a sort of rock-n-roll background. It was, I suppose, a little like something Jethro Tull might have done on “Thick as a Brick” if Ian Anderson played the fiddle instead of the flute. The track was entirely instrumental and called “Broken Leaf”. It made me think of leaves whirling in a circle, under a strong breeze. I wanted to spin in my chair, and to dance to it. In the dream, I think I did.
In real life, Level Head is sending me some CDs employing a fiddler player, but they haven't arrived yet, and none of the tracks are (so far as I know) called “Broken Leaf”.
In the one I've already forgotten, I thought I was reading the_gneech's “Suburban Jungle”. He was wrapping up this extremely convoluted storyline in an impressive and dramatic fashion, and urging people to be patient with his progress: “I don't know that this will answer everyone's questions, but it should be satisfying, I hope.” The implication was that, with this storyline wrapped, he would stop doing SJ -- the strip would be “over”. I was very impressed with how he was handling it. I couldn't wait to see the end.
Except, that on waking, I realized that the story I was reading in my dream has nothing to do with “Suburban Jungle”. I can't remember the story any more, except one tiny fragment: there was a male human character who was closely attached to a black stallion character (intelligent, but non-morphic). The stallion had green eyes. Someone had just drawn attention to this: why does your horse have green eyes? The man's own eyes widened, as if this was something very important, and flashed back to an event from his childhood, where his -- father? grandfather? -- was taking him to a stable to select a horse for him to ride. This was some kind of rite of passage. The grand father wanted his son to ride a white horse: the stable owner rather insolently offered an unsuitable animal -- I don't know why, I just remember the grandfather was irate. Then his attention was drawn back to the boy, who was nodding and pointing to a black colt that a groomsman was leading. The message conveyed was “This one, grandfather.”
The grandfather nodded and started to lead the colt out of the stable, presumably to ride it, though the animal looked far too young (maybe a yearling) to be ridden, even if the boy was small.
There was lots more to do with this story that I've forgotten, none of it having anything to do with anything The Gneech has ever written.
Well. At least I'm still dreaming. I wish I could've figured out sooner “Hey, these are dreams, I should go write them down” and gotten myself up to write them before I forgot the one about the stallion. It probably wasn't that good a story anyway, but still ....