In the third dream, you were there.
The water had risen. The drive-through lanes curved like rivers. The stores were closed.
The flood poured through the forest where we walk. Everything was quiet. The water was quiet and massive. Winter trees reached above us.
People waded thigh-deep in the current. We reached into the water and drew out fish.
We were moving through the water to a hill, high, now high shoreline, to roast fish for everyone.
The children gathered to us to eat. We did not know them. They knew stories we did not.
We were not afraid. We were serious. We were quiet.
There were no houses.
People were walking through the water, drawing out fish, moving to the hill.
You were there.