Signs form a language and, as time passes, a mysterious force takes hold.
My grandma recently told me about an idyllic reoccurring dream that she often has. She told me of a sunny day when she came across a pretty house with a river snaked around it. Every time she entered the house when the water level was high, something negative occurred over the next few days.
Dreams tell the myths that are forgotten by the day. What happens at night can disappear the next morning. The horizon beckons me forward but continues to elude my grasp. Thinking about what I saw; it was only a moment of light, like the explosion of a star, that made me search for meaning in the darkness.
