I am in this large house, where I used to go when I was little. A beautiful house, with a huge garden without a fence. The lawn stops where the forest begins and only the magnolia opposite the house dances and casts its living shadow. In the grass, I can see poppies as big as sunflowers and butterflies landing on the flowers here and there. It is late morning. It is late morning. The rays beam across the bay windows and dance arabesques, creating animated stained glass.

My mother is in the kitchen, preparing jams; her hands are stained with berries that she has just picked. The smell permeates the room, and I can distinctly detect the tangy scent. I want to taste the liquid in the pot, but she asks me to be patient; it has to cool.

To pass the time, I go into the garden and blow soap bubbles. On the thin pink and blue film, I see my reflection. And behind me, I see a shape that becomes clearer. It’s a cat sunbathing. He meows, beckoning my approach. I caress him. Every time I run my hand through his fur, I find one of my favorite toys, so I frantically stroke him. I have to stop because my mother is calling me to come to the table. And I wake up.