A dream I had this past Friday:

A large sprawling city of small buildings- no higher than five stories- from a disjointed maze of narrow alleys and back rooms. Made form assorted materials, as varied as wood, corrugated tin, steal and brick. The city goes on, stretching out to the horizons, until it disappears. There are large dark clouds, heavy with rain cresting over the horizon. “This is my city. I don’t own a single brick, I don’t live here nor do I spend much time within the winding streets. But this is my city.” Cold wind rushes past.

In a field next to a towering apartment building looming over head; it stretches out in a crescent moon, framing the field with its’ convex side, sky open with out stars or clouds above it all. I am running as fast as I am able, though effortless, and my feet never quite touch the ground, I know that someone is fallowing close behind. Cool air rushes past my face as panic sets in; feels easing, and I calm enough to see from a prospective not my own- off to one side, next to the apartments, and a little above me- a man tall and black, dressed in runners tights, fast gaining on me. Not more than two feet aside and dead even with me, we look at each other. Now, he is not dressed in tights, but in a green T-shirt and blue-jeans. I know not what I where. Something soft in his face puts me at peace. No longer do I run, now we race.

Gone are the apartments. Gone are the fields. Gone is sky, with out stars or clouds. Dark clouds in the night sky lay over the narrow street, framed by the buildings to ether side. Now, it is bright- only enough to see clearly, not so much as to hurt my eyes. We run past an abandoned bazaar, in to a noodle house with a low ceiling. I am the first enter; pushing through a paper door with out damaging it, I see -from the other runners view- myself leaping over a low divide in the way. I see the astonished patrons ogle with relative fancy, from their cushions, set besides the low tables. I see us both run past confused wait staff, and a row of diners along a wall, towards the rear of the restaurant and the back door. Heavy in weight, I slam in to the solid metal door, and push it open.

The other runner and I jockey for position as we race down a soft dirt alleyway, towards the street. Leaping over trashcans and construction debris, we reach the street. There are none but us in the thoroughfare; it is the deep of night now and all have left. Though we both stand panting, hands on are knees, gasping for breath, we are not tired. Looking at each other, I know we will meet again in the cities ways, and shops.

Wind blows and my face cools; I regain my breath.

I stand on a ledge above city looking at the other runner and myself. I see us reflected in my eye as I become aware of where I am. I am no longer on the roads or in the alleys but on the ledge above city, dressed in a tan over coat, loose cut gray shirt, and light brown pants. Looking out toward the horizon, I sell the dust and squint towards the bright sun, braking over the cool morning earth. I know there is a storm coming.

I woke calmer than I have been in weeks. The city is not new, I have been there several times, but going through my old dream journals, I found that this was the first time there had been commentary. Indeed commentary is a rather a new occurrence altogether, happening only in the last few six weeks or so.

Cheery-Bye