I dream of journeys. Journeys on trains, on escalators, in cars and on foot. Last night I woke from one in which I was walking along a narrow isthmus. A sea haar hung heavy above and around it. My way wasn’t clear. I came to a house. It had been my mother’s. It was empty now and though I had been intending to stay there, I couldn’t bring myself to. The windows were too dark, too exposed to the elements. So I kept on walking.
