Crossed on Malta

We were vacationing in Malta, tracking along rugged coasts and through ancient weathered ruins. There were jagged black cliffs dotted with old pottery shards. At one spot there was a melted trickle from a Roman-era lead mine, but the sky grew dark and I was hit with lightning.

We went to a salt pan, where fingers of black primeval stones poked up from an unknown civilization. But the sky grew dark and lightning chased us away.

There were temples from the dawn of time, sandy stones baking in the centuries; traces of artwork, and the heads of bulls looking blankly down over altars that hadn't seen action in ages. Darkness fell and the electrical storm blocked our way.

There was a sign boasting about the oldest known human habitation, but when we got there it was just a crack between two slabs of granite, filled with water and covered with a tarp. The sky grew dark and I was jolted again.

Private planes became whooping cranes. Cars turned to turtles. People became savage things, splitting skulls with heavy rocks. In the end there were only stones, studded with the fossils of things to come.

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A dream from sometime this week. I've never been to Malta, but it's on my list of things to do. Just enjoy the vision. The lightning storms seemed to be a carryover from a vacation Fermius just took. They became a sort of politically correct guardian -- any time I looked at something that might give insight into history, it chased me off.