Wandering somewhat aimessly through dreamtime, I meet my long-dead maternal grandfather, looking spry and in his middle years.
We chat about my memory of him as a bowler-hatted city-gent when I was a child - 'ah, I was much older then' he explains.
We see, exhibited on the wall of a gallery, tiles (fridge-magnets?), inscribed with individual words. These few things are all that really matters we agree - truth, beauty, love...
I wake and spend a happy hour or two planning the artwork :-)
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