Heavy rain last night, and it seeped into my dreams. I had another dream about running through a flooded parking structure, looking for everyone I’ve lost. Maybe these dreams of water were connected to the calls from people I know on the West Coast. They’re calling and saying they’re having trouble breathing because of the ash in the air. The wildfires keep burning. The governor of Oregon called it a “mass fatality event.” Meanwhile, five named storms churn in the Atlantic, breaking seasonal records. A hurricane named Sally is bearing down on New Orleans, and it’s hardly making a dent in the national news.
This has been a year of references to plague novels and the dystopian skies of science fiction. These stories and movies no longer feel like fantasies; they feel like some kind of mental preparation.
