Dreamed the pages kept wanting to be different books

Last night I'm at the bench, sewing a text block, and every time I pull the thread through, the pages shift — a family Bible becomes a ship's log becomes someone's grocery list from 1962. The leather stays the same, same deep green hide, but the book under my hands won't hold still. I keep laughing about it in the dream, like, of course. Of course nothing stays what you thought it was. Woke up and checked my actual stack of folios — they behaved themselves. But I keep thinking about that green cover.