I have dreamt the deaths of my four children, each iteration more violent than the last. In my sleep, I’ve felt the heat from detonated hydrogen bombs and breathed the smoke when trapped in burning buildings. I have drowned and been shot. But in general, nightmares come to me on the very rare occasion.

I’m not sure if last night’s dream could be elevated to “nightmare” status, but I do think it’s telling.

I dreamt of the Trojan Chicken. It wasn’t being pulled across a desert by slaves. Instead, it rested in the center of a small bay causing the residents of the seaside town to wonder how they were going to outsmart it.

With the benefit of knowing the story behind the Trojan Horse, the townspeople knew enough to not hop into our boats and row over to the giant bird. We all presumed there was something nefarious inside. Several people turned to me and asked what we should do.

And I didn’t know what to say.

When there is something large and unapproachable looming in a place where it is uninvited, the resulting paralysis is understandable.

And yet, something needed to be done.

With much pushing and prodding, I agreed to “do something.” I took to the water, at dusk, and swam toward the monstrosity. As I got closer, I noticed the wry smile on the bird’s beak. It looked just suspicious enough to convince me that whomever was inside was not motivated by good intentions to come to our bay.

I placed the device under the bird’s right wing (no small symbolism there), and swam back to shore. The sun had set and the shoreline was dark. When I emerged from the water, people quietly greeted me and asked if my swim was successful. I shrugged and said, “Let’s see.”

An item, which resembled a garage door opener, was placed in my hand.

I pressed the button and the sky glowed in the light of the explosion. I could feel the heat on my face. When I turned to see my companions, I saw they had all turned into ghosts.

And, I was alone on the beach.

Nightmare?

Maybe.

Or maybe a harbinger.