100 words: Dreams

In the early morning, when the sky lightens in the east bedroom window, is when I find I have the most intense dreams. There may be wild adventures; there can be prosaic going-ons. Interestingly enough I find most these dreams take place inside a building, usually a house. Sometimes the house is one I’ve been in before, typically morphed out of recognition. Sometimes it’s a new place full of dark corners and clanking hulking machinery. Is the outside too strange, too uncommon to make its way into my dreams except in nightmares where I am plunging from a collapsing bridge?