THE LAWSON’S PEAK BOOKS

Dreams of Fate and Rivers

I lived a dream a few weeks ago.

In that dream Suzie and I loaded up the truck early on a Saturday morning and headed along the vast highway system of America.

Dreams are funny. They are often erratic and unfocused, jumbled and garbled. But this one though came with a clarity based in firm grounding and cognizance.

After a tortuous, slow-moving trek through New Orleans, we cleared the Northshore and rolled out onto the interstate.

Soon the flatlands subsided and gentle rolling hills lifted like inhaled breaths from the landscape.

This was a dream eleven years in the making; two dreams, in fact, merged into one. Like rivers. Like fates.

Before we reached Birmingham the hills had become foothills; though well under a thousand feet, to a flatlander like me they were mountains. And in them my spirit soared, away from the interstate under my wheels, and my heart perched atop those slump-shouldered ridges and looked back at me.

It was a long day and we arrived in Chattanooga after dark. From there we traveled across Cherokee National Forest in rain and pitch-black save for the headlights of the truck. The hairpin turns wracked my nerves. Couldn’t see . . . → Read More: Dreams of Fate and Rivers