Then I am swinging on a soft, thick blue wire, connected to the bridge. I swing in large arcs, under and over the bridge, soaring way up further into the sky and then coming back down, then going up again. I hold on tight, because if I don’t, I will fall.
(This is a dream)
I have been travelling on a highway far above a countryside lit by a beautiful day. My car is not really visible; it’s being used but one cannot see it. It’s really just me, travelling. I get to one portion of the highway, and it’s just a very large black cable, like part of a suspension bridge. I see all the cars slowly getting off the highway and carefully going down this enormous cable, which can accomodate only one car at a time, single file. I don’t think I can do it. Too high—miles above the ground—and too dangerous. I am on a wooden platform, hanging onto the railing, or the floor, scared and trying to figure out what to do. It’s foggy now, or cloudy. The wind is heavy and loud. I can see mountains in the distance, their surfaces thick with deciduous trees, and small lakes far below. A car pulls up behind me. There is a woman inside, and she watches my dilemma. She thinks I can do it. The wind picks up. I climb around some metal cables, inches in diameter, connecting the bridge and its components together. Sometimes I have to throw my body from cable to cable, using my weight against the wind, which blows so strong. It’s hard to imagine how the cars are driving down this much larger black cable, but they do, and continue driving away, down the cable and into the clouds. They drive very slowly. The woman says it’s a terrible part of the highway. We have to shout into the wind.