11:18 Footfalls

…I fell asleep, as usual, to the sound of the 11:18 heavy footsteps. I only remember bits and pieces of my dream that took place in a great farmhouse perched upon a ridge bounded by water and distant mountains–the pattern of a Persian rug or shafts of sunlight through an orange tree swaying in the breeze. However, I find that I have been marked with a singular vision that I fear will presage things to come….

Strange Encounter in Venice

…Then one night several weeks later the traffic slowed and I took a good look towards that walkway. And I realized I couldn’t see it. Not just that it was too dark or that a car stood in the way (there were no cars in the dirt lot), I mean I couldn’t *see* it. Something blocked it. I had driven past the property by the time that registered, and that part of Pacific isn’t friendly to people stopping and backing up. Too much traffic, not enough parking to pull over, and besides, I needed to get home. I decided that I’d try to remember to give it a better look the next night, but it was actually several days before I looked again. There was definitely a gate blocking the view of the walkway, but it didn’t look like a new gate. I thought, “Well, it must have been open when I stopped here that time.”…

The Bomb Shelter

…The darkness down here was dense and tangible. It seemed to consume the light from the hole above. Having just got off the ladder, what I could make out around me were dozens of these small, short white pillars scattered around a shelf next to the ladder. I’d later reach out and pick one up and realize that what I was looking at were the stubs of candles burned down to the last. They were arranged along a shelf carved out of the dirt….