Huge new moons appear. Two Europas, rust-orange to glacier-blue Swathed in Titan-haze. Ice, air! A terraformable pair. They hug Earth; raise frightful tides. Luna now swims warily afar. I plan to guide her to shepherd the new		Couple to kiss and lovingly collide-- merging (I hope) without a System-wide rock-and-lawsuit storm. Rightly fused, this New Mars will become a garden once the strata calm. I may yet walk the seedling hills of Eden ere I die.
	But my orbits err! So rogue moons pour onto the lanes of Franklin Street in San Francisco, busy, steep. Motors roar as drivers swerve hysterically away from moon-stampede! Thunder down cratered, bouncing, willful. They do obey the one-way signs. So far. Io, stupid cow, prods Big Sis to ricochet up a mansioned street in Pacific Heights. Oh, trample some millionaires, see if I care! Three mad cows left. Leap, accelerate downhill boisterous. Run two red lights! Moo-mentum tumbles them toward the Bay whitecapped under a fog-tongue gray. Ding that midnight car!		If they bowl straight on like this, they'll roll Through Fort Mason--the low grass knoll may stop them--if not, it IS the least bad shore in town to toss a boulder off. Half-wild. Speeding now. Good luck, Highway Patrol! Two units howl and gun, but quickly learn moons are hard to tase. Ganymede leads the charge across Lombard. Tourists get to relive the Late Bombard! Whew, the light's green. But Callisto bounds up kanga fast. Will the signal hold? As Io rumbles up, my heart-engine pounds drum-guilt for my orbit-poking overbold. I wake ashake. Oh, Jupiter pays hubris back. Always.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

• Terraforming: I just read a Robert Silverberg column on the odds for exolife, in his book Musings And Meditations.
• Franklin Street: Locals' shortcut to the north side of San Francisco. The year my dad died I drove it weekly to a Fort Mason art class. So it may mean grieving--which can indeed snowball.
• Driving, anxiety: Drove to therapy, but felt too shaky to handle Franklin's busy traffic, so I took safer, slower streets. The dream hints "maybe you were wise to take back routes."
• Runaway moons: runaway cars on SF's steep hills are no joke; forget to turn your wheels in, and you get fined. Beats being squashed.
• Late Bombard: in the early Solar System, the Late Bombardment was a last long blast of cratering. It hailstormed Earth, possibly supplying a lot of our water.
• Hubris-guilt: I got grandiose, tinkered with orbits to build a new Eden, and slipped. So Jupiter-Zeus-Jove-Jehovah, the guy who puts the Heavy in Heaven, sends his Jovian satellites to punish my hubris ("offending the gods by taking on god-tasks").
• In Buster Keaton's film Seven Chances, he flees a landslide of car-size boulders just like these Martian bouncers. The funniest dance in film history--and all papier-maché. So is the dream-warning serious, or is the danger... hollow? Hard to say. I know what I think. I swear I saw Callisto wink.

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