She was speaking about some ritual. I decided to paint the word HOUSE. It glowed in the white light. My brother was there and I thought all this would be mine , the house , the valley, the lot. Sitting at a table was him. He was dressed in white. He was speaking to someone I knew next to him with her back turned. I could not see her face but I felt I knew her. Nearby were steps leading down for the man. As he spoke his mouth was full of light. It was my friend he had come to pay me a visit. When I woke I felt strangely happy. Outside winter has set in with dark clouds pregnant with rain. The light is always there I thought . I thought of that dream when I was a boy woken by a blast of nuclear light. The precious ones tell us we are light from light. I had a friend who was dying of cancer. He was one of a kind. Big and full of life. Bullet proof was a way to describe him. When the cancer had really taken him over he told me to meet him near Separation street. This is not a philosophical statement though it could be. There is a separation street. I saw him shuffling along dragging his body with him. I caught his face, it was shining. In a week he was dead. How many of us have walked that path to separation surrounded by ghosts.