Equal Steps & Falling Down

I had a dream last night, which as I've posted several before, I really don't know if anyone cares, but I'll share it anyway.

It started off with a multitude of screamings. I couldn't see. It was like my eyes didn't want to move in my head. Finally, things got quiet and dark. I found I could move my eyes again. There was starlight, but no moon. The ground was littered with debris, and everywhere there was spintered remains of trees and smouldering patches.

The air was heavy with the smell of burnt pine. Like camping, you get a whiff and you immediately relax. I had no idea what was going on. It was dark and smoky, and aside from the stars, I had no immediate landmarks with which to travel by. With no memory of how I got there (usually what trips me off that I'm dreaming is my lack of memory), I set about trying to find my way back home, or at least, something familiar.

The next thing I knew, I was walking down rusty train tracks under slate-gray skies. A light shower was falling, barely enough to wet the pebbles on either side of the track. The smell changed from burnt pine to the smell of old rust and rain. Ahead, the tracks wound through an urban centre, glass office buildings standing like rectangular mirrors, reflecting the overcast skies. There was no sign of any recent habitation, nor was there any sign of houses. This place was nothing but skyscrapers and railways, a hub of commerce that, when it was still alive, never slept.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on a bed of moss, the sounds of the ocean heavy in my ears. The sky was overcast, still raining ever so slightly. The salty tang in the air is familiar, but I almost just want to turn over and go back to sleep. On rolling over, it suddenly feels like I'm falling out of bed.

I'm falling, through gray clouds. The land below is rushing up, almost in slow motion. There's a massive greenish-blue lake below me, surrounded on all sides by a patchwork of farmlands. They are each perfectly tended, although there is no sign of either people nor machinery to maintain them. So I continue to fall, at this point largely aware that it's all a dream.

Just before I impact the glassy surface of the lake, the water warps around me, going all around but never touching. I descend, ever further, until the gray skies behind me are no longer visible. I fall and fall into blackness, until suddenly the smell of burning pine hits me again. There's embers floating in the air, and somewhere I can hear a fire crackling.

I hit dusty earth, but it gives underneath me like a cushion. Coughing on imagined dust, I give a start.

And that's when I woke up. I really don't know why it is I never dream about people, but rather the things that people leave behind.