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Two Minute Window

February 3rd, 2014

5/10/2021

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I dreamed of mountains and lakes.  This was normal.  I have many such dreams and still do, but this one ended differently.  As I stood on a grassy shore looking out across the water, two sets of numbers hung in the air as if floating on a breeze.  The numbers remained until I heard the voice. 

A strong male voice said, "Confluence," just once.  

I woke up.  

Dawn was just a breath away.  The house was chilly.  I was hesitant to crawl out of bed.  My wife lay beside me, breathing deep and was not ready to wake-up.  The house thermostat was set at 65 degrees.  Outside, the winter cold frosted every  window, looking for a way in.  For now, the double-glazed windows and insulated walls kept Jack outside.  Making small movements, turning to my left and rolling a bit, I pulled the covers down ever so slowly until my face was fully exposed.  I blew a small breath out of my pursed lips, always expecting to see a mist, but none formed.  In the dim shadows of light breaking from the east, I could see the small note pad.  My sure hit song writer pen lay beside it.  

Over the years, I took to naming such inanimate objects and they became good friends, that is until one would run out of ink.  Then it was thrown into the basket without a single good-bye.  You know the feeling.  ​
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