I dreamed ...

of busses drving up hills in the winter. The rest of the world was silently frozen under blankets of boundless snow, but city busses all over the city were climbing hills precariously, carefully, resiliently.

I could see them all, all the busses, all across the city and the city had grown hills in all the places you would never expect. Steep hills like the Ashmun Street Hill in Sault Ste. Marie where we used to go visit Great Nana before she died. I would look at that hill with wonder and longing as the city kids slid down whenever a big storm made them shut down the road.

In my dream, all of the busses started to lose their footing. They started to swerve back and forth, some even slipped backward.

The city remained silent, as it should be on a early snowy morning.

But in the silence people started to leap from the bus windows like those who leap from burning buildings.

People were throwing luggage(!) out and one person even tossed out an old electric piano.

Bodies and objects lay in the deserted road behind the swerving struggling busses like pollution from the turbines of a power plant in the lake.

And then the busses regained their steadiness and climbed to the top of the hill.