I am on a mountaintop. I know that I am the only one on the mountain, & even the surrounding mountains —I am completely alone. It is dusk & everything is growing dark quickly. There is a yard cut into the side of the mountain where two houses stand beside each other, one small & one large, but beyond them there are no houses or yards, just deep woods. The sense—or the knowing—is strong in the dream: I am totally alone. I KNOW this. It is not a hunch. I am the only one in the mountains & the rest of the world is far, far below, & the wilderness feels close & connected to me—life giving & terrifying at the same time.

As I walk up the front steps of the larger house I see a small campfire that has been set under the boards of the porch. I didn’t light this fire. I go into the house. It is grey-dark. Everything is grey. There are no lights because there is no electricity. In the kitchen I see my two cats on the table. I take a few steps toward them & can hear my feet scuffing the linoleum floor. I stand still & quiet & listen to the absolute silence. I stand there for a while taking it in, waiting until I am comfor table with both the silence & the darkness. It’s as though I’m not allowed to leave the place until I’m used to it. There is a sense that I’m moving out. I gesture to the cats with a tilt of my head for them to leave with me, & they jump off the table & follow me out the door.

Once outside, I crawl under the porch to inspect the campfire, wondering to who could have lit the thing. I see only one log really burning, the rest have barely caught fire. I pick up the burning log by one end, with my fingertips, & it hurts but I can still hang on to it. I wait until the small licks of flame on the other logs have gone out completely, then crawl out & carry the burning log across the yard & into the smaller house. The log is still hurting my hand as I enter. This is my new house.