Dream:White. A room, a cavernous chamber and a corona of towering, milk-white alabaster columns, rising from a carpet of snowy cloud. A white-noise subliminal soundscape, barely-discernible Mahalia Jackson/Enya mix-tape. Such radiance! A just-audible gasp escapes from slumbering lips. It was heaven. Dream:Blue. Fishing for guppies on the South China Seas. A miniature craft thrown up on ultramarine, near-pellucid Hokusai-high waves, a teasing, tantalising glimpse of the iridescent, electric blue flowing tails of a thousand tiny fish, drawn to the outstretched mesh by some invisible force. A good catch. Dream:Gold A molten river, gilded by the setting sun, shimmers and snakes through burnished trees. A flaxen-haired child, featureless, androgenous, content with the day’s play skips silently through a cowslip pasture, towards a robin-red painted shack, this, a vivid spot in an otherwise aureate landscape. Home, safe. Jude Compson
