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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