Godtmorgen

Just came to after a lengthy nights sleep, about 10 hours I think. Our hotel rests on one of the main drags in Copenhagen, so we sleep to the soundtrack of the city. I dreamt the entire night, but what may have been a bizarre fever dream, sustained through the night, was interrupted and broken up into a series of even stranger pieces by tiny one cylinders whizzing by, and young couples coming and leaving home, interlocked and giggling. Jutting out like spokes, or one way streets from my psyche, they got progressively extraordinary and more heart-breaking throughout the night. In the last one, I was visiting a friend who had a summer house, somewhere. And in that weird dreamy, before-you-know-it-you-know sort of way, I knew something horrible happened down by the shore. I remember darting down the long, lush yard, flanked by huge, sad trees towards the beach. And, in the final approach, I saw something that looked vaguely like a sack of groceries. It was bobbing offhandedly in the tide. To the right, of what I later learned to be a small child, there was the wreckage of a plane. The metal frame was bent and twisted, and the wings were snapped. The water was swirled and tainted by the gasoline from the aircraft, and I can only remember standing on the narrow strip of sand looking at the toxic wake, wondering if I should go in.