through the school-run mist, still haunted by a dream. So vivid it only feels one step away from living, a confrontation with a phantom, eye to eye. I can recall her face clearly even now. I wonder why dreams rack and shake us, are they memory traces or some extra, latent sense not yet mapped in the brain connections. Are they something mocking us? In sleep, all our powers and conceits fall away to neonate awe and each morning we must trawl our adult memories and reinvent ourselves, minted new with every sunrise.
