Tim / Dec 3, 1988 / Council, Idaho
When we went to bed in our apartment, it was still the third of December, a Saturday. But both of us woke up about midnight, which was unusual.
I had been dreaming that Frances and I were driving in our home-on-wheels, Emma. We were navigating a winding dirt road up a hillside at night, bouncing along slowly. I had to shift down to second gear because it was getting very steep.
Suddenly we were approaching a house with a big flame coming out the top of it. “Oh my god, house on fire!” It wasn’t a finished house; it was just studded in. But there was some kind of tree growing through the middle of it, flaming. When we got closer, we saw a guy all bent over, working on his house, burning the midnight oil, with plenty of light. It looked like he knew what he was doing. The fire must have been under control, so we turned the corner and continued up the hill.