nothing surreal, or real, or revelatory

I was in Bavaria near Neuschwanstein. My mother or some respected woman was there to guide me. It was raining. From the edge of a mountain trail the local tourist tavern was in view.

Ascension

You had been in France and for some reason come back to lead me to the basement and tell me how to clean it. It was full of surprising minutia. I vacuumed strings. Maybe we were looking for something.

Later, my father told me that the repairs couldn't be done, or received at least, without taking a computer to the shop. A laptop wouldn't do.

When I gained a hazy consciousness, I was standing in a bar, dark as the rest and peopled by shadows that yelped about this and that, but mostly that.

I was vaguely on Ascension.

Having heard of fireworks

From the high-fenced place we raced, having heard once or twice of fireworks. We made it to the sculpted basin made of clay, and by then it was day. We had just sat down at the green-blue reflecting pool and ate a hamburger when I heard an automated voice on my phone that said mum had died in surgery. After some wrinkle in the fabric of time, we saw Renny Bover in the snow. He said he'd be back from Chicago soon. People are better at driving in the snow there.

No one has to know all this, but someone will probably tell.