The dream ends abruptly. The knock is clear, crisp. It doesn’t repeat though I am still, listening.
The dream is gone. Work? Something else? Nope, nothing, gone. Only the knock.
Still listening. Was it real? Could I have dreamed it?
It didn’t signal arrival, but it was perfectly incorporated. That’s all I can recall now.
Straining, no unfamiliar sounds inside or out.
4am. I get up. No signs of life out front. It seemed too loud, too close for that door, on second thought, though I couldn’t not have checked it. I ponder the other doors, and the sound. It was crisp. Knuckles on glass? I don’t want to check the other doors. No broken glass sounds followed, certainly. On wood I decide, an indoor sound.
A dream, then? Who would break in and then knock?
Unsettled. Too early for sunrise. Yesterday’s was unendingly beautiful, accompanied by a nearly full moon still high in the sky, dancing with the clouds.
And with that thought, I think I’ll retry sleep.
Revisited: at 6:30am there was also not really someone ringing the doorbell.
