Dream Log #927

There’s something about the architecture in my dreams that seems to be a recurring trait. This latest one was no exception, and although I am too weary to put it into words that I would deem worthy, I’d like to log it as best I can…

I find myself in a city; or rather, an enormous slapped-together structure that spans the length and size of a city. Top heavy; cheap; strange…rooms upon rooms, linking other rooms. Thin metal sheeting. Garbage everywhere. People milling about. Greasy furniture. Ashy sky…I am with a woman I can’t identify, and we’re in a restaurant room of sorts, gazing out a window at the mountains which mark the Canadian border. They rise high and dark, covered in snow, and are marked only by the periodic fur tree. No other signs of life. The town, if you can call it that, hunches pathetically beneath this enormous mountain, and gazing wondrously up the cliffs, into the face of an incoming dusk blizzard, is extremely humbling and unsettling as it is…but this particular dream will shortly insist on making matters a little worse. Word comes around that Canada is on fire, and the fire is traveling south, and will soon breach the mountain range to the destruction of all. Not sure whether or not to believe it, I race back to the window with my female companion and look back at the mountains..

High over the ridge orange light glows, and the raining snow turns to ash. Panic and fear grip my female companion, who seizes up like a statue. I feel it as well, but decide to run. Outside of the restaurant things are on fire. I wake up.