Early Spring

I am on a sailing vessel. My wife is by my side. We are alone. Presently, we are floating directly above the wreckage of an old downed ship - the RMS Titanic, perhaps. I peer down into the dark waters. The idea of the ship deep beneath us, in the Void of the sea, is beginning to give me anxiety. Now I see bits of the wreckage rising up towards the surface. "Something's stirring things up down there," I say to my wife, gravely. A general sense of dread arises. Pieces of weird, archaic wreckage are bobbing all around us. There is more - the sea churns- and I wake up. It's Tuesday morning. Pale sky. Thirtysomething degrees. No one else is awake yet. Cold hardwood floor.