A huge chunk of architecture glides away and separates from the facade of a building in London. It's a double decker bus and I'm driving it from the way back of the top floor. Almost identical to a dream my mother described to me 20 years ago.

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Laura and I are making our way thru a series of vignettes, like rooms but not necessarily enclosed. It's hard to be certain of anything because it's so dark. In the second one I notice a miraculous white moth on the ground and go to pick it up. It ends up perched over my wrist, right where the dial of a wristwatch would be. It is elegantly shaped, with four wings that are perfectly white and luminous. I try to get Laura to come over and look at it but she is distracted with something. This infuriates me. Then the moth disappears and I am finally able to get her attention. I start to tell her about it and I have a sense of gratitude that she is listening to me. Then I realize that we are in the middle of a fantastic garden all of whose plants are perfectly white and shining from within with an intense white light. There is a feeling of miraculousness in the air. We walk around slowly and marvel at the strange foliage. Then we hurry into the third and fourth vignettes and all I remember about them is that they are both dark. As we move I realize that the vignettes are phases of life broken up into a quartet.