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.
Deeper into the blankets I snuggle. You can't hear the gunshots that way.