To Stop a Dream from Falling

Flying toes

Mee­do falls through a forest.

I dreamed of falling off a three-pas­sen­ger bicy­cle through a for­est of trees and land­ing on the roof deck of a Turk­ish library pop­u­lat­ed by new-age chain-smok­ing French twen­ty-some­things who believe that if we jump at just the right angle onto a rain-pol­ished mar­ble incline we’ll land at just the right angle to slide off and bounce safe­ly onto a mush­room field of white tents that will emerge just to break our fall.

And just when we were lin­ing up to jump, the phone rang and woke me up. That’s what hap­pens when belief is chal­lenged: It is some­how saved by a ran­dom occur­rence, mir­a­cle from anoth­er world, or the bell.

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