I dream of leaving this grimy and dangerous city behind me.
I dream of a farm house surrounded by tall trees and lilac bushes with fields of ripening grain stretching to the horizon.
I dream of a cabin on the edge of a mountain meadow, its back to a forest and bordered by a small stream.
I dream of a house in a small town where I’m labeled as the town eccentric and pretty much left alone.
I dream of an adobe house in the upper level of a small canyon with wildflowers blooming on the sides of the mountain.
I dream of a cabin by a lake in Minnesota in October when no one else is there.
I dream of a houseboat moored on the Mississippi or the upper Colorado.
But these are dreams and will most likely not be a reality. I’ve lived with ever deepening debt for the last 20 years and there isn’t a day that goes by when I’m most grateful that debtor’s prisons no longer exist. No, I’ll just have to visit these places in my dreams.