Since September 11, I’ve dreamt about planes.
Sometimes nothing goes wrong in my dreams—there’s a plane flying, no more. Sometimes I dream of a plane spiraling down to earth, not directly towards my house but perhaps a few blocks over. It probably doesn’t help that I live right by the train tracks; at 4 a.m., a freight train roaring past sounds a lot like a jet engine.
A few months ago, I went to a Giants game at Pacific Bell Park. Not long after sitting down, I had a vision of an airplane crashing into the stadium, and I spent much of the game wondering how far we were from SFO and how wide a Boeing 767′s wings are.
Mercifully, the dreams have started to recede in the past few weeks. I thought of them tonight, though, when I read yet another article about why the World Trade Center’s towers collapsed. And after reading the last two paragraphs of the article, I’ll probably dream about planes again tonight:
The south tower, its top listing noticeably to the southeast, fell at 9:59 a.m.; the north tower followed at 10:28 a.m.
Workers have been removing debris and human remains from the site ever since.
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