49.
In the dream I’m floating above
a cemetery. I know it’s a cemetery because I can see the headstones, the
mausoleums and the green, rolling, rural pastures from high up in the friendly
skies. In fact, it’s a cemetery that I know from a long time ago. The three-hundred-year-old
Albany Rural Cemetery. The same cemetery that I would sneak into at night
back when I was kid when and I would go in search of buried treasures with my Radio
Shack metal detector. Most people don’t know it, but old cemeteries are ripe
with all sorts of artifacts from hundreds of years back. Old belt buckles,
coins, even musket balls took a special place of honor on my childhood
bookshelves.
Soon I begin to fall.
Not rapidly as first, but
slowly, gently. The closer I come to the earth, the more a singl
