Dream Journal 11-02-16
The awakened master beaver finished constructing his damn on the top of a mighty waterfall.
The city slept at the base of the mountain in ruins.
Only a few members of the rebellion were situated in the broken city of San Fran Tokyo.
Grey skies peered over the horizon, trying to bring the rain forward into this desert plain but not being able to overcome the wind that ceaselessly pushed them away. The beaver put down the last bits of wood, sealing off the valley below from the small stream that flowed here. He knew that he was the only one who had the power to give life back to this land yet he himself was old and dying. Slowly but surely, the stream would widen itself, creeping its way up the banks of the basin.
“If only I had some child to pass on my ideas to,” the beaver groaned as he limped his way to his burrow. The desert sun took heavy a toll on him and he must rest the night away if he were to start on the next dam tomorrow.