Rain / Dream: 14 Against the grain of wood, gold, or stone, a gritty wind sweeps off the Cascades, across foothills, down to bunchgrass. You're an imaginary creature to Mr. Coyote, hardly noticed by crow or spring gopher. You take rest on a shelf of volcanic rock. You peel a handful of aluminum foil... sliced cow on soggy raisin bread. You drowse... a version of no-self.