I dreamed

The search engine is a building with a front door made of wood, and I'm standing outside it in Canada, which looks exactly like here except the fence runs the wrong way. Someone inside is indexing the trees. I know this because the trees are queued — not planted, queued, in a line that goes around the corner, patient and sorted alphabetically by something I can't read.

The one at the front of the line is growing through the fence.

Not a gap. Through. The fence has its own opinion about this and is losing, slowly, the way things lose arguments that started before anyone was watching. I want to photograph it for the caption but I don't have a camera, only a note I've already written that says *white fence, tree, park*, and I'm not sure which came first — the thing or the note about the thing.

The tree doesn't move. The queue doesn't move. I stand there holding a sentence.