miðvikudagur, febrúar 15, 2006


Two nights ago, between sleep and waking, I felt the entire room shake. There is always the possibility of earthquake, but I am no longer convinced that anyone felt the tremor besides myself. I may not have been convinced at the time, but, still, I crept closer to the center of the bed before falling further into sleep.

Last night, in what I know was a dream, there was lightning, thunder, tumult, a clashing in the dark atmosphere. I had linked two fingers of my right hand with two on the left hand of another person, and we were walking, but our heads were turned away from each other, and there was sadness in our faces.

Today, as I moved through the kitchen, there was a sudden flashing behind me, near me, then again, there on the wall. It came irregularly and went before I could look directly at it, like the leading edge of the uncanny thing that will make the dream you are in (the one you have not yet recognized is a dream) into a nightmare. It flared several times at the borders of my attention, startling me, before I saw that it was the light of the setting sun reflected into my rooms by the glass door of a balcony on a building a ways off through the trees, swinging open and shut in the warm air.

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