I HAD A DREAM ABOUT A RIVER
Copyright John Common Music
It was evening. I was walking along the river. My boots made a shushing sound as I moved through the tall, soft grass along the bank. The night air felt warm and open and alive around me -- like I was slow dancing with the air as I walked. It was a perfectly clear night. The honeyed nebulae twirled above my head like a chandelier you'd just spun with your fingertip.
The night exuded magic and boundless possibility.
I looked across the river to the other side and sitting on the bank was a white Bengal tiger—it was licking its chops, silently observing, tail switching a bit, waiting... vaguely menacing.
That's when the feeling in the air began to shift from wonder and beauty to lawless disaster.
I noticed that the ground had changed beneath my feet. What had once been a well-worn dirt path was now a muddy wash, slowly filled with water. The river was steadily rising past its banks.
I hurried to the house by the river. I didn’t live there, I was just a visitor. I walked inside and went to tell the son and the old man (his father) what was happening. Such a strange occurrence. Was this normal? They both ignored me, refusing to listen. The old man looked annoyed when he turned around and hobbled upstairs saying, “Ehh... I’m going to go take a nap.”
I looked out the windows of the first floor, alarmed at what I saw. The surrounding fields were glassy in the starlight, already filling with water.
I followed the old man upstairs saying “Look out the window! Any window!” He wouldn’t to do it. He refused to believe.
I ran downstairs, gathered my things… I found the old man’s son and said, “This is real. What are you going to do?” He just looked down, spread butter on his toast, and murmured something I couldn’t understand.
I decided to get the hell out of there.
The water was moving faster now – I could feel it.
Out in the front yard, wading through chest-high water, were 2 men – one with a rifle, the other holding a two by four. They looked hungry. Hungry for something that would never satisfy them.
I pointed them out to the old man’s son. He ignored me again, playing with something in his hand… a twig or maybe a paperclip. Water was entering the first floor now… it was spilling through the windows.
I ran to my truck, I found the gun, I started the engine, and I drove up toward the main road through a mud and wash.
As I turned the bend, the house began to break apart and float into different directions.
I had a dream about a river that flooded its banks.
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