Remember, remember, remember: Don't forget.

Last night I dreamed I missed the plane to go somewhere and so I had to get there somehow and I picked up a red cushion, as you would a float in a swimming pool, and flew behind the large plane on a cushion. Before the plane landed I veered off and came to Earth near our house. It had large glass windows. I was with my children and we looked out and through the windows I saw how the sky darkened and an vast inky tornado touched the Earth on the other side of town. Tornado, I shouted. My children had turned into my brothers. What shall we do, hide under the stairs? I am getting out of here, said Andy, and we all agreed.

And then I woke up and the emotions of the dream were flowing through me and the traces of old states of being surfaced almost like fragrances. So ephemeral. And my eyes stretched wide and I repeated to myself over and over again:

Don't forget, don't forget, don't forget, don't forget.
Don't forget, don't forget, don't forget, don't forget.
Don't forget, don't forget, don't forget, don't forget.

Remember, remember, remember, remember, remember
Remember, remember, remember, remember, remember
Remember, remember, remember, remember, remember

And now, when I look at this photographs suddenly I do remember more. I remember, for example, the last time I hugged my father. There was a queue to hug him. The grandchildren, Tere, and I was the last. Two burly men embracing warmly. I squeezed him hard and enthusiastically. And then dad, now practical and focused, leaped into his car and drove off to Chris and Anne's house.