I am in the snowy mountains again, on a type of journey —a long distance sled race against another man. I am weaving through snow-capped trees. The horses that once pulled my sled have died of exhaustion, & now it’s just a single dog in the harness. The dog is very tired & I am worried, but the race is almost over.

I reach a big wooden house, made from whole logs, but fancy-looking also—like an expensive lodge at a ski resort. There are people on the balcony who are vaguely glad to see me when I pull up on my sled. I explain to them that the dog has been puling the sled & that the horses are dead, & then ask if they’ve seen my opponent. In the dream I have a great deal of respect for the man I am racing against, so I’m hoping that he’s still alive. They say they haven’t seen him, & it’s assumed by everyone that he’s died in the hills.

But then he appears on the road beside me, just standing & smiling, & it’s clear that he was here before me. It’s Willie Nelson.