*900 feet up in the Sylvia Tower* -- 14 February 2001


   Tuesday, 6 February 2001,
   Drm:  I’m inside a certain 60-stories-tall slender gold 
building in south Tulsa, at the moment on a floor near to the top, 
looking out the very large unobstructed window facing north.  (The 
actual building is equilateral triangle-shaped in horizontal 
cross-section, one side facing south -- therefore the edge of a 
60-degree angle pointing north.  It has a perimeter of 
unobstructed large windows at the top floor, the other floors 
having a large window at each end of all three sides.)  It seems 
(after considering the scene in its subtlety) I’m looking out the 
large window at the east end of the wall facing north, *near* the 
top floor. 
   I am living here, or something like that.  The dream-image is 
vivid, like seeing telescopically out onto flat prairie grass 
covered land, following the progress of a storm front, demarcated 
by the leading edge sweeping across the prairie pelting rain 
behind it.  The front advances from the north, bringing with it a 
violent wind.
   The wind is what I’m concerned about.  In only a short moment 
the front will arrive, and I have concern for the structural 
integrity of the building.  Having not been involved in its design 
or construction, I don’t “know” that it will withstand the ominous 
wind, more violent than this building has ever seen for sure . . . 
and I imagine the wind force upon the slender building, imparting 
bending stress as onto a cantilevered beam (sort of seeing the 
building as a model in my mind -- flying away if it broke off).  I 
decide momentarily that everything will be all right.  The storm 
will come, the wind will blow, and the building will remain 
affixed because it *is* strongly built.  Regardless, there’s 
nothing I can do about it.  I am staying in here either way. [end, 
awake]

   Upon waking, it reminded my of the cold front that moved down 
through the midwestern plains, something like the coldest air mass 
ever recorded in the arctic of Alaska, arriving in Houston just 
after 0000 hrs on 3 February 1989.

   Recently I had recalled that event.  At Cut Bank, Montana, the 
temperature fell 23 degrees in one minute.  In my home town the 
temperature went from a record high of 72 degrees on 31 January, 
to 4 degrees at 0800 the next morning.  The newspaper had a 
picture of the swimming park lake on the front page -- the lake 
from the *Midsummer 1976* story -- showing steam floating off the 
water out around the steel drum buoyed raft. 
   Early on Thursday, 2 February, the front passed through Tulsa, 
yet the low in Houston that morning was 70 degrees.  That day it 
was 80 degrees in Houston, falling to 38 degrees rapidly after 
midnight -- which I especially remember because I was doing pizza 
work that night in a T-shirt -- proceeding to below freezing, and 
staying that way for some days. 


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