Day of Dreams: The Good Ol Day(Dream)s
Set to "Lines of My Earth" (4:26)
Small Midwest farm town, mid-1970ís period. Itís a town in decay, dying out slowly as the years have taken their toll and times are tough due to the recession and gas shortages.
A deer couple, the doe pregnant, her husband traveling into town to get their supplies. Their small farmhouse outside of town is neat but old and worn as the rest of the town.
"Dream Symbol" Placement
It is a spider web between the rails of a fence at the end of the animation sequence.
Itís been a dry summer and everything is dry and dusty. It is early morning on the flat terrain of the Midwestern setting, just a short time after the sun rose. There on a little farm a few miles or so from town, a deer couple work hard as farmers do, toiling on their land to make a living. The doe dreams of what her life could have been in better times as she does her chores. The buck, driving his old pickup truck into another town some ways off, also recalls his dreams of making it big. At times they may recall their childhood, when the rains were more plentiful and the town had not yet descended from the peak of plenty. At other times, the images they imagine are of their hopes, which now seemed dashed by this time of trials and tribulations.
The doe, seen in another scene punching figures into an old-style adding machine, attempting to stretch their meager assets to cover all the bills finds nothing but frustration. The numbers donít seem to add up. Pondering, brow furrowed, she recalls something and from her closet pulls her old piggy bank out. A memory of the old days flashes though her mind, how she used to save every dime she got. That money is still in there, saved for a rainy day. Alas, if only it would rain! A dry day then it must be. Shaking the bank to free the coins trapped within it proves ineffective, and so with regret she smashes it open and gathers the meager amount together in the hope that it will help them last just a little longer.
Nearing town, the buck is stymied in his first mission to fill his truckís gas tank by a line at the single pump. He recalls they heyday of the town, during the 50ís when the old pump shined with new chrome and four servicemen would rush out and check the tires, wipe the windshield, etc. on his fatherís Pierce Arrow. The line movesÖ one car length. Sighing, the buck leans on the steering wheel and prepares for a long wait ahead.
Back on the farm, the doe has just put the wash on and ventures out to the pump house to turn the irrigation pump on. It sputters and shakes and belches smoke, so she gives it a swift kick which seems to put it in working order for the time being and the sprinklers come to life, hopefully to keep at least some of the crops alive. But as she looks at the ever shrinking irrigation pond, she knows that without rain, there will be no hope for a good harvest. She walks along the edge of the field and her mind wanders to the good ol days of childhood again, when she used to play hide and seek with her friends in the lush meadows and brush around the creek, which is presently only a muddy trickle with cans, bottles and tires strewn here and there when she comes back to the present.
In town at last, the buck stops in front of his regular general store, only to find it closed down. Thereís only one other store to go to, run by a rather greedy-looking heavyset lion, and its stock is far more expensive. He gathers the absolute essentials and attempts to bid good day to a few locals, but only a few stares and a half-hearted waves does he get in return. The poor growing conditions and economic strain have ruined many a mood it seems. Ah for the good ol days, the times he recalls when the goat who used to run the old store used to give him penny candy for free when heíd come to town with his dad. Such daydreams are all too brief as some bear gives him a rough nudge to move him ahead in the register line.
The doe has just made supper for her husband and she walks to the fence by the road to wait for him. A couple of cats seated upon the posts, miaw and meow in rhythm to the music as the buckís truck rattles up the road. A spider web in the shape of the dream symbol tears loose from its place between the fenceís rails and blows away in a dusty wind, caught up in a dust devil and flung away. In these dreary times, dreams of happiness must seem just like the web, merely feeble wisps of the memories of the good ol days lost in the winds of change.