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When I was little I had a recurring dream where I became weightless and floated up from my bed. I would always cringe as the ceiling approached, expecting a painful impact. But instead, I simply penetrated the ceiling, then the roof above, and floated up into the night sky. I wafted on the breeze, rising higher until I passed the top of the great elm tree in our front yard.
I always felt a giddy sensation as the whole neighborhood spread out beneath me like the maps in the atlas I kept in my room. All those houses, so large and sprawling on the ground, became tiny as the models in an electric train set, making me giggle with glee.
As I floated higher, the breeze became a blowing wind that carried me swiftly away to the south. My house vanished before long, leaving me with a vague feel
