Supratentorial Dust Storms and Tumbleweeds

Sandwiches and Storms(#dream)

Arthur Higgins, a gangly–if not awkward–middle-aged man, sat cross legged on a picnic blanket wrapped cozily in the warm afternoon sun. He felt perhaps a bit drowsy but very happy. Before him sat the most beautiful woman in the world. She wore a sun hat to protect her blonde hair and fair skin. The hem of her summer dress flapped gently in the breeze. 

She made a sandwich first placing brown bread lovingly on a plate and then spreading soft butter across it. Then she lay two slices of cheese and a slice of ham upon it, followed by lettuce. As she prepared the sandwich she glanced over at Arthur with sweet smiles that made his spine tingle.

They hadn't spoken but he knew she was making the sandwich for him. His stomach rumbled in anticipation. It was a loud gurgle and he flushed with embarrassment but she didn't seem to notice. 

Finally she pulled a slice of pickle out of of a jarr. It slipped from between her dainty fingers and landed upon his hand. It felt ice cold but he laughed and brushed it away. Then more wet pickles began striking Arthur's face. He wiped them away, annoyed.  

When he looked up his sandwich and it's creator was nowhere to be found. Instead he found himself face to face with a lion. The beast gave a roar so ferocious Arthur quivered and tried to hide his head with his hands. A flash of bright light blinded him and dozens of freezing cold pickles continued to slap him across the face.

Arthur Higgins awoke on the cold stone floor next to his bed soaked with rain and sea water which continued to blow in from the dark and stormy night outside. He pulled himself to his feet and staggered to the window to slam it shut, tripping over an empty bottle of wine. He cursed and pulled the window shut. His cat Felix stalked back and forth mewing and looking distressed.

"Felix," shouted Arthur. "I picked the wrong night to finish off the wine, I did! We must hurry." Arthur ran up the tower that adjoined his sleeping quarters, up a tight spiral stone staircase. Felix followed at his heels.

"You could have woken me up earlier, you good for nothing cat!" yelled Arthur. But in truth Arthur knew he had screwed up.

He reached the small room at the top of the tower and pumped the kerosene tank to ensure enough pressure remained to vaporize the fuel over the bunsen burner until dawn. Then he wound the gear box attached to the base of the lens pedestal with vigor. The cable supporting a column of disk weights began to drop by gravity through the hollow mast at the center of the tower. This vertical descent translated into the horizontal rotation of the mammoth lens apparatus floating in 250 pounds of mercury. A warning signal began to flash across the horizon. 

Finally Arthur took a seat at the diaphone and pressed the pedal to sound the fog horn. 

"Got it on, Felix," said Arthur, "better late than never. Let's just hope no ships have run aground yet..." he trailed off and glanced at his feline companion. Satisfied the tower was fully operational he stood. 

"Let's go make a sandwich together. I'll give ye some ham," said Arthur. 

Felix seemed to appreciate the plan and wound himself around Arthur's feey. "You're a sweet one," said Arthur to Felix, "but I wish ye were a pretty dame and not a cat."