Wagons with houses, wagons with glass

I dreamt last night that my village, like Anatevka, was dispersing. We had all put our belongings in wagons, and were pulling them away. I remember noticing that every wagon had a little house in it; some of them had two houses. "Cool set design," I thought professionally.

I didn't have a wagon. I went with a 10-year-old boy. He was barefoot, wearing a slate-blue hand-knitted sweater and jeans. His wagon was empty except for a single, 1-foot-wide x 4-feet-high pane of glass, carefully wedged between two buddhist cushion-rolls to stand erect. It stood tall, like a mirror, except it was clear. We went the opposite direction of the other villagers, up onto the mountain ledge where we sat and looked at the sea.