The fact is, I live an extraordinary dream-life — except that it need not be a fact, or a dream, or a life. I simply dream the fact that I live, and live the fact that I dream. I dream, living, and live, dreaming — a snowflake one moment, a star the next — when, out of nowhere, comes a voice, a hand, a shower of senses — and I remember how foolish it is to speak of such things, and so I say the words anyway, or dream that I am saying them. And that is my life — except that it need not be so — it need not — no, not at all. Until now, love. A shower of hands. The sky is about to fall.