I had a dream.

The other night I dreamed, again, that I was at my mother's farm, but not my mother's real farm, but the very different-looking farm that in the dream I know is hers. My brother was there, and my mother, and my niece, and she was throwing a tantrum and now I can't remember the details, but we were all angry, and I went outside to get away from her and the sky was pink and red like the sun was about to set only against the brilliant colors hovered hundreds of small dark aircraft, silent and still. There was one just above us and I knew that we had to run and hide somewhere and my brother came out and then we were running toward one of the barns, trying to find a deep cellar to hide in, and my niece didn't know what was going on, so caught was she in her own misery, and the plans began to move, slowly, and I could just see them, black and ominous against the beautiful sky, and I knew that they were sent to kill us and we could not get away, there was nowhere to hide, there were just too many of them.