wind farm

There have been several mornings since the last post when I remembered dreams but didn’t get around to writing them down. One was that I was at an event for Obama somewhere out in an agricultural area on a soft-focus morning in a rickety old building that seemed to be something like a fire tower with a barn as the base, and Obama was speaking — right in the middle of everyone, with no separation, like a good punk concert, although he was elevated, maybe standing on a table — and someone started heckling and trying to make a confrontation, but others kept him back. I think I woke up at that point.

Meanwhile, last night’s 14h sleep included:

  • I was at a house in the countryside on the border of woods and fields and it was very solidly built (seemingly carved from a single mass) but was old and had settled quite a bit, so that the floor of at least one upper-story room sagged toward one corner.
  • In Hancock, near Rte 137 toward Bennington, a wind farm had opened and there were turbines scattered all along the stretch, strategically placed at the windiest places, which garnered praise from me and whoever I was traveling along the road with on that scuddily overcast, windy day, probably one of my parents.
  • There was track (or maybe XC) practice about to get going on an afternoon and I would be attending it with WU classmates. We got up from the north-facing steps we were sitting on to proceed thither.
  • I was at home in NH looking through the leftmost pre-renovation base cabinets in the kitchen and discovered small plastic bins of childhood toys and looked through one of them.
  • For some reason I had designed about 5 posters, maybe for some particular event, and they were very good; one of them had a bald-headed demon (human-looking except entirely red) in closeup, in a flat style, and maybe there were words including “devil” and “apple,” though I’m not quite sure of that. There were definitely words, anyway.
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