Small feats.

The other night I had a dream that my Scottish ancestors were fighting the Irish, and I was watching from behind a rock on a sort of cliff. Above me were two Irishmen who were watching and talking about the battle. The Scottish were winning, but the two observers did not seem afraid; they looked confident and smug, and one told the other to wait. All of a sudden, a wind rushed onto the field and knocked everyone over, killing them instantly. The Irishman called them "wind warriors" with a grim look on his face. I hid myself under a thick blanket, hoping they would miss me, but knowing what was coming. The wind washed over me and I died as I woke up. It was a horrible feeling, but I haven't yet tried to figure out it's significance.

Every day when I walk home from the bus stop, the same dog barks persistently at me, and I usually bark back. Today, I hissed instead, and the woman in front of me looked at me like she thought I was going to eat her. A little girl at the apartment complex stopped on her tricycle to ask me "why are you here?" I told her I lived here and she rewarded me with a full smile, minus one front tooth.