the aeroplane over the snow
2003-02-13 || 8:05 p.m.

Two nights ago I had the weirdest dream and I can still remember it. The oddest thing about it was the other-worldliness of it. It was almost like it had a soundtrack of silence, a soundtrack of heaviness, of truth. Oh, I'm struggling so much here. It was like there was a truth buried somewhere in it. As if it was symbolic.

Anyway. I dreamt I worked in a school that was a couple of hours flying time away from here. There was an airport down at Medway and (the planned Cliffe airport maybe?) anyway, whatever, there was this airport down there on the Rochester marshes and I would fly from there every day to my teaching job. I knew that the school I was working at paid for this because there was a terrible shortage of teachers and I needed to be somewhere warm because I was not too well. The plane took off one sunny, snowy day. I was looking out of the windows watching as we rose higher and higher. The sun was reflecting on the snow and it was just beautiful, calm and soothing.

The next thing I remember in the dream was being unable to get home again. I was on the telephone and I was being told that the airport was closed. The whole of the South East of England was terribly flooded and no-one could go in or out.

What is impossible to describe here is the feeling in the dream. A feeling of knowledge, of ... something. I don't know what.

It's like that thing in dreams when you are talking telepathically. You only realise that that is what has been happening when you are awake and describing the dream. You go to say 'I said' and realise that actually you didn't say it at all, not in that sense.