Bad lightening storms last night.
I went out this morning. The grass around my house had grown to seven
inches tall. And each blade was singed brown at the top, still bright
green at the base.
None of the other houses had singed grass.
In another dream, I saw a silver Mercedes rolling along I-95 without a driver. The Arizona license plates said SCIBE.
A young man on a Honda motorcycle shouted to me from the neighboring
lane.
I could hear him perfectly, even though the traffic was heavy. He
shouted
that he was riding to Hawaii and could I point him west.
The kids at the Deep Creek School are shouting at me from the inside of a manilla envelope.
I can't get any peace.