FLYING UNDER BLANKETS (sheets? or Navajo blankets?) with Photographer over mountains (starting out from Selah or Naches?) we wind up, after rocky and snowy stretches, Goat Rocks, say, over Vermont, other end of the country – a children's camp, actually, high up a dirt road from a dream a few nights earlier …
Freeform with or wearing a harness, hands free, touch of Yakima, touch of New England.
I'M GOING TO BE BURIED TOMORROW so go out with my friends or family on a sunny spring day, actually, that's where it starts, on the country highway, looking up the intense green grass toward a plateau or leveling, with tombstones white in the sun … we climb and there see three new holes dug in the earth. One would be mine the next day.
Am I being buried alive?
DRIVING ALONG FLAT FARMLAND, like that of northwest Ohio. Great blue sky. Humming along, with a ditch full of water to my right; may be a small river. A small town looms on the horizon, with an elevated green bridge in front of it. First, it's an interstate highway, and then a railroad. My companion and I discuss the possibilities ahead.
Pass under it and there's a forced right turn. Everything turns dark and interior. (Hmm. Shades of the water-cage highway weeks earlier.) I overhear a young woman telling of a dream in which she, too, had a prominent bridge. I approach her, ask if her bridge was perpendicular to the highway, as mine was. No, it was beside it. Still, we've bridged a conversation. She's wearing a black cocktail dress. Smiles slyly, seductively. We begin kissing. It's only a momentary thing, one of us says.
So here's a dream with conversations about dreams! Again, a sense of places I've lived, back when.
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