The other night, after almost seven years I finally dreamt about my father again.

The last time I had dreamt of him was right after he had just passed away.

…In that dream so long ago I had found him in an abandoned and surreal hospital, as if it were a painting by Giorgio de Chirico, cast in a late afternoon light.  He was on a stainless steel pathology gurney draped over by a white sheet.  As I approached him, he sat up with a kind smile and assured me that he was fine, that he did not suffer any longer, and that he was in a much better place…

That was the last I saw him, that is … until two nights ago.

…He appeared in my recent dream at the end of a long and convoluted story, most of which I cannot recall.  It was a brief visit, and soon afterwords I awoke, fully cognizant that he had made contact with me.  As the rest of the dream quickly evaporated into the ether of my unconscious, I held on to the last bit where he spoke to me.

…He emerged through the layers of my dream only to name four books for me to read, two of which I forgot as soon as I awoke.  And then he faded back into the folds.  Of the two remaining books, one was called Rain, and the other The Trees Fall Off The Leaves.  …The trees fall off the leaves?

And so it begins, my journey to where trees fall off the leaves, to where a nation collapses beneath its people, to where a leaf learns to fly…

Anyhow, for something worth flying for, here’s the indomitable Aly about to wield the radiant dagger…

Aly getting ready to ask a hard question...

-Iliad Alexander Terra