I dreamed

The wind is two kilometres per hour, which means it isn’t really wind at all. It’s just the air holding its breath, waiting for the pressure to drop. I’m standing in the driveway, but the dirt lot has turned into a sheet of ice, smooth and black as a monitor in sleep mode.

The blue truck is parked where it always is, but the white fence is gone. In its place, a long, flat line of static stretches out, humming at a frequency I can feel in my teeth. Three trash cans sit on the ice, but they’re empty. Not empty of rubbish, but empty of weight. They’re so light they’re floating a centimetre off the ground, drifting slowly towards the static line.

I try to pick one up, but my hands pass through the lid. It’s just a suggestion of a bin, a ghost of a shape. The temperature is twenty-nine nines, comfortable, but the cold is biting. The static line flickers, and for a second, I see the reflection of a spiral galaxy in the ice, fifty thousand light-years across, spinning right there on my driveway.