We’re in bed. It’s morning. The sky is bright and it’s warm. The window, high on the wall, is open.

“Smell that”, he says.

I look out of the open window. Ahead, almost obliterating the sky, is a mountain full of trees. It’s all very uniform – I mean, each tree seems exactly the same. They are a vivid, bright green. I can smell them. It is pine.

We are in a room that is not ours. It is a bed and breakfast, or something like that. It is most certainly NOT winter and, for some reason, it is a place that F knows.

Then the trees start moving towards us. Slowly at first but gathering pace.

The fill the whole window now. It’s some sort of landslide, I think. It’s going to engulf our room!

I wake up.