In my dream last night, I was visiting an old, elementary school chum-friend in his high-rise, penthouse suite apartment. After some good catchup, feel-good conversation, I wandered over to the giant, double-door window to check out the killer view across the city and countryside.

Far off in the distance, the sky was strangely turning muddy and grey, washing out the sun into dusk (in the middle of the day). A big, faded watercolor wash, swallowing up the next town over.

At the horizon line, coming down the hills and shooting out of the grey wall, like a lone surfer coming out of an Endless Summer tube, a tiny orange sliver appeared. It looked like a moving lava stream. It was so far away and it was a slow trickle, at first.

It took a minute of staring and refocusing and curiosity and awe… to realize it was actually a huge fire storm racing towards us… a giant wall of fire… at cataclysmic, tsunami speed… ripping through everything in its path…

I yelled to my friend (who was in the back bedroom) that we had to run… get out… NOW… immediately… I frantically scrambled to his kitchen, grabbed my guitar case, and bolted out the door into the hallway… running down the hall and down the fire escape stairwell, the circular hallway of cement steps. I could hear the crackling firestorm approaching outside, getting closer, closer.

Stop.
I was suddenly shaken out of my sleep.
It didn’t occur to me until later that there might have been a real fire that I should have been up checking around the entire house. I just went back to sleep (it turns out, there was no real fire)… but I am sure it all meant something… symbolically… sub-conciously… something important that I should be paying close attention to…