155 W Fifth Ave / Lake Archer

Click for map: 1155 W Fifth Ave / Lake Archer / lat 39.7252405481783 lon -105.00304425145033

Call 720-845-5413 extension 27 to hear this dream.

You are facing a small lake with a canal of fast water running out of it. Shacks & tents have been erected beside the canal. People in nineteenth century clothes wander about the make-shift stores & saloons. The only wooden building is a mill, its wooden mill-wheel locked still in the rushing water. You step into the mill. The smell of fresh cut wood fills the air. At the counter a woman speaks with a mustachioed man in an eastern European language you do not understand. The man dips his thumb & index finger into a leather pouch & pulls out a pinch of gold dust & lays it in the woman’s palm. The woman carefully pours the gold into her own pouch. She turns to the shelves behind her, which are laden with chunks of tree trunks, examines the chunks, & selects one. She carries the chunk of wood back to a stand beside a still saw blade. She pulls a thick wooden lever. Water from the canal runs over the mill wheel & the sawblade rises & lowers, rises & lowers, moving faster, into a blur. The woman holds the chunk of wood up to the blade, cutting off corners, shaping the wood, finessing it, until she has cut it down into a fresh loaf of bread. The smell of just-baked bread mingles with the wood-scent. The woman hands the man with the mustache the loaf of bread. He sniffs the bread & smiles. The next person in line speaks a rolling language you also don’t understand. The woman shakes her head at him. He hands the woman a basket of apples & spreads his hands out wide. The woman nods. She takes the basket of apples & pours the apples into a barrel, returning the basket. She selects a long chunk of wood from the shelf & takes it back to the sawblade. She carves the wood into a long, thin loaf of fresh, hot bread. She hands the bread over & now you are at the counter. You don’t have any cash on you, but you very much want a loaf of this bread. You pat your pockets & find them full of padlocks. You lay two padlocks on the counter & point to the shelf of wood. The woman shakes her head. You place a third padlock on the counter. The woman nods. She takes the padlocks & places them beneath the counter. She selects a chunk of wood & carves it into a loaf of bread for you. You walk back outside with the loaf of bread in your hands. As you exit the building a loud bell’s tolling fills the air. All around you, people trot away from the edge of the lake. You follow their lead. A heavy vibration rises up through your feet, a heavy, rhythmic chugging. The lake surface grows choppy, waves rising, then, suddenly, a train rises out of the water with a deafening roar, belching white smoke. Water streams off every surface of the train, shuddering down into the foaming the water, spraying mist. Within the traincars’ windows, people stare out in wonder. There are people of all sorts of ethnicities, wearing rags & wearing beaded gowns, wearing elaborate sashes & wearing waistcoats, all staring out the windows with fear & wonder. You catch the eyes of a young man, his brand new hat pressed over kinky hair. You nod, he nods, & then he is gone. The train engine pulls six cars from the water & that loud bell rings again. The lake settles back into its calm surface &, all in an instant, all the people go back to what they were doing.