Our dreams come to us like midnight visitors. On moonlit niights they softly knock on the star-lit window and they are inside already. They don’t even awaken us, they step right into the middle of our dreams and live their gentle world thus. They stroke us gently , and whisper stories of long ago to us, in these stories we can run like children again , we can see dear, old familiar faces, and we can re-live our secret dreams again which were lost in the mist of Time. At dawn they will collect our scattered pieces of memories, hold each other by the hand and slip through the window, out into the cool , starry, finite night- these dear visitors by moonlight leave smiling memories behind them… I am nothing other than a breathing memory. I look for the trace of passing thoughts above the wood dancing in moonlight , and slowly pull to me the memories of time which are swimming in stardust and are never again to return…