The more I researched, the more my fear transformed into fascination. By high school, I was hiking on what I’d affectionately termed “power line trails” that run up and down the hills near my parents’ house. High-voltage lines ran from a substation at the bottom of the hill up to the hilltop, and then down into the next valley over. The rocky gravel beneath the power lines, once used to truck the lines and their supporting pylons up to the top of the hill, made for an ideal walking path. While hiking, I could look up at the lines, count the insulators, and throw out voltage guesses. And at the top of the hill? A gorgeous view of the valley as my reward.

Night after night, for days and weeks on end, I had the same nightmare. The scene and the characters usually differed, but the story was always the same: I heard a buzz, I knew a power line was going to fall, and I had to get myself (or friends, or family) the hell out of the way.
And you know how dream-physics works, right? Whenever you try to run, you run in slow motion.

After a few minutes, I looked up at a nearby telephone pole and saw a blue light sparking. Yay! A streetlight was coming back on! Power was being restored! Right? Then, the loud & crackling buzz began.