I had a dream within a dream within a dream. I was a Dust Bowl farmer in the third, a farmer in the third, hi-ho the derry-o, a farmer in the third, but in the second I “awoke” to drifts of snow high as my second story window. I sat upright in bed, marveling at and then gravely considering the ramifications. Just as I rose to dress and retrieve a shovel from the basement --I felt the roof would need to be cleared-- I saw my room was slightly out of order and, unable to explain away some of the differences between the rooms of last night and that morning --the dresser was two different shades of blue, depending on which eye I used to look at it-- I decided it was another dream. I returned to bed and aw””ke to a dusting of snow. The day unfolded as was planned, somewhat.