The Wind Bellows

The Wind Bellows

Last night I dreamt I was a traveller in a strange land. I was at first with an old friend, Aaron, but we were not ourselves. We were walking through an old industrial part of a city, where there were brick buildings from over a century ago. They had metal ladders trailing upwards beside them. Looking out west, over a field in this city, the sun was rapidly setting amidst red and yellow clouds. But most notably there were large cylinders, part of a large factory refinery of some kind. These large cylinders were like the water or milk towers we see. I asked, exclaiming out loud, “Where is that music coming from?” A haunting symphonic melody floated out over the landscape from the refinery’s source, like from a music box.

Aaron said, “That’s the Wind Bellows making the music. Whenever the wind blows, it powers the large arms of the machinery, by the power of immense bellows, and there is also a music maker inside it, so that every note of this ghostly music is created by the particular wind as the motion of the factory functions.”

Rapidly the sun set behind red clouds, and all became darkness, and the sound of the music quieted to silence. In such darkness we knew it was time to seek shelter for the night.

We came to a tavern, an inn of some kind. We were all set at long tables in preparation for dinner, when an army of assassins burst in. They demanded to know who were the Jews, and I was one of them. They said, it was my choice, they either take me, or the whole inn is killed. I went willingly to save my friends, but I had a plan, so I was not frightened. In this plan I escaped without my shoes, or bag or anything else except the blue “blouse” and skirt I was wearing, and I walked into a bright white city at noon day. The sidewalks were clean and easy to walk barefoot on, and I knew I had come into San Francisco. But it was the 1950’s. I knew I had to get to the other side of the city where they were waiting for me, and as I travelled on foot across the city, the decades went forward, so that I was now in the late 1970’s thereabouts. People were dressed in the styles of that time. This is all I remember.

 

 

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Published byAmber MV

Amber MV holds a BA in Creative Writing and English from Southern New Hampshire University and is a graduate of Anake Outdoor School at Wilderness Awareness School.

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