Today I was told a dream about an egg, a male uterus, a machine and a birth. An extraordinary dream imparted with a smile. Today I decided with someone else that our objective for the year would be to put life into dead songs. These are tiny moments like miracles. Exquisite little frozen snowdrop heads, too precious to touch, too fragile to travel too far. I stand next to these memories and breathe. I inhale and exhale softly so as not disturb their delicate petals. Some thoughts must be wrapped in cotton wool and carried around with care. We are lucky to be given such moments.