I have dreams, not the overwhelming, lets-make-a-hollywood-movie kind of passionate dreams, but clear dreams, wan and pale and beautiful in their very fragility. These have followed me from a very young age - like clear panes of glass in a small attic window, allowing in a light which fades and peaks depending on the weather outside.

On a clear summer day, at the right hour, I can sit beneath the roof and watch sunlight angle through the glass and spread a soft beam of gold through the dusty air. Sometimes sitting silently, that light is much more than enough.