It’s been particularly difficult to sleep around here lately, mostly because the weather and, specifically, temperatures, have fluctuated wildly.

When that happens, I toss and turn and wake up at least three times per night. It’s not all bad: I get to do the thing where you look at the clock and immediately calculate how much longer you get to go back to sleep, which is always satisfying.

Unfortunately, with such conscious pleasure comes un- or subconscious terror, as exhibited by my recent fever-esque dreams. One stands out.

I’m standing about midway up a slope looking toward the bottom. At the bottom of the slope is a road. To the left is a grove of trees, and in that grove is an opening.

So I’m standing there look in the grove of trees and I start to walk toward them. All of a sudden, one zebra shoots out like a slingshot stone and gallops past me. And I watch it and it comes toward me, passes within ten feet of me, and runs beyond, up the slope. Weird, I sleep think.

Next comes a water buffalo. Those are big, at least, when I’m dreaming. It rumbles by, and not just figuratively. The stones near my feet dance their ways out of the dirt and jump on the surface and the buffalo moves bye. It’s slightly closer than the zebra.

I’m getting unnerved, mostly because I’ve never encountered these animals before. But it’s still pretty cool.

I’ve actually ridden the next animal. A giant grey African elephant lumbers out of the thicket and seems to eye me. It’s hard to tell because elephant eyes are small and non-directional. They aren’t set forward like a hunter animal. You can see only one at a time.

So the elephant eyes me with one eye and starts to walk, then trot, then run at me. It flares its ears out like it’s charging. It does not trumpet, which disappoints me. That’s not the first thing on my mind, though, as the elephant crashes forward.

I hop out of the way at the last minute like a matador before a giant, grey bull. The elephant with its side-ways eyes sees this and veers at the last second as well, kicking me over with its back right leg. It must be spite, because the pachyderm keeps running after I’ve been kicked over. I roll up the hill defying gravity and rest near an exceptionally tall patch of scrub and grass. I’m dusty and soon-to-be bruised but satisfied.

Picking myself up, I dust off my clothes (a weird set of khaki safari wear that I do not own in real life) and look to the opening in the tree stand. I worry about what’s next, because elephants are big, and nothing else on land is bigger.

Something smaller creeps up to the edge of the trees and stops. I can barely see it unless it moves.

The leopard is one of the hardest to spot predators on the African savannah. Their spots help camouflage, and their stealthy habits and nighttime hunting preference make them hard to spot. They have heads large for their body size and can climb well.

It’s crouched at the edge of the tree thicket, watching me, Ben, standing in the middle of nowhere. I’m a tree in Iowa before a massive thunderstorm: certain to be gone by the end.

The leopard scoots along the grass, then starts bounding toward me, never taking either of its eyes off mine. I freeze, fascinated at the motion of the cat. Grass sways, wind blows, just perceptively. I swallow, waiting for the pounce. It never comes.

The leopard sweeps past me, whipping grass into my leg. A minuscule amount of air escapes my nostrils.

And it comes from behind, on my shoulders. I’m knocked over, and there’s weight n my chest, needles digging into my skin.

The I wake up, and my stupid cat is sitting on my chest. I haven’t trimmed his nails in awhile. And he’s hungry. He wants breakfast.

And I’m tired, because it’s 5 am. But it was a neat dream.