DREAM FOURTEEN

Last night, mom and I tip toed around a sleeping dragon. Think Smog, from The Hobbit. The stirring beast was something of a periodic disaster to the city, like spring flooding or a hurricane season. It was expected to take lives. In fact, as we slid by the burping mass of smoke and scales we had to also weave though a small group of people with haircuts like beetle wings. They were sacrificial. I'm pretty sure of it.

Just another dream that is so obvious it requires absolutely no interpretation. When did my unconscious mind get so lazy?