I wake up this morning before the alarm clock, before the birds on the roof or the dog of the neighbour, before day itself. It was dark, not pitching dark, a soft greyness of bad dreams and poor weather, and it was there on my mobile phone, a small white note; the mobile switch off and unplugged. I had plugged it. And I had set up the alarm, I had. This was my past… my future that single note of white paper. I turned it around several times, and once more to be sure… it was really white, slightly shining at some angles, still bluntly white and still my future. My dreams had taken me to the past again and again this night but there in the reality of waking up I had the luxury of a white future, white and bright… a future to be written. I daydreamed for a while, daydreaming the shape of this white paper, stretching it, building a few pictures. Is that my vision? that bright future I can paint on that note… Birds are singing now, T.E. Lawrence words echoing with their chirping “All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.’ I keep my eyes open now.