August 26, 1991 (I was 46)
from the dream records
In the side yard of
my mother’s house in Keewatin I sit on the simple wood-frame of a go-cart made
by my young son Nathan. I position
myself in balance, then I fly it over the fence and across the sidewalk in
front of the house. The town looks rejuvenated. The Itasca Theater is back, merchants are flourishing, a
street sale is on with goods displayed.
I’m at an altitude of six feet and run into Elizabeth Michelich and her
daughter, Betty looking as they did thirty years ago. They are amazed, as are others on the street, to see the
bare frame fly. Elizabeth says,
“You should make more of those.
You could sell them easily.”
I know that she doesn’t understand, and I don’t explain, that the vehicle
flies by will, not by any source of power. It is actually I that is flying. I take it to about fifteen feet and soar down the street.
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