At the start of the dream we overflew a shining white-washed world. It was that winter of 09, the Big Freeze when cynics still thought exceptions overruled investigation—no warming ‘cause it’s cold; no science—someone cheated; no global ’cause local’s what’s seen. Dutch wept as water-levels rose, time passing, science amassing too much of what no-one had listened to before. The ocean’s maw gaped wider, swallowing all in unfathomable blue and the burning sun came out.
At the end of the dream we landed on Ararat, made sacrifice of animals from the ark, sang long hallelujahs, and started over.