A whisper inside his head. I heard it. Navahos conferring with ancestral ghosts. A dream that both of us had when we did not know each other yet. A woman came to me, white hair, gracefully bowing over my head. I instantly knew - gentle persuasion - what she had to tell was of importance. Things started tumbling, gliding, I ended up where I had never been before. Was this part of the dream? Life doesn’t happen, it becomes true. For some it is blasphemy, for some a deeper voice within. A thread weaving itself into beautiful reflections, colourful layers in adamantine ice. What will happen when it starts melting? Too many questions to answer, who can be consistent. I remember this woman who lived next to next door. I was told she was mad, hearing voices, locking herself into her head. Once when I was little, I rang her doorbell. She didn’t open. She must have thought I was someone bad. She had lost her husband. I had lost my shoe. I had brought her some food, but she wouldn’t take it. It could have been poisoned. The street where we lived had a water canal. In winter it froze and we skated. I had learnt it by shoving a chair. I would skate in front of her house. We all would. We never asked questions. By now she must be dead. Suddenly he starts believing in angels. I know it because I heard the voice inside his head. I start wondering who of us is mad.