Deep in the melody of sleep, she came to me. She was dressed as always in the bustle and crinoline of her time, together with tightly wound hair and folded parasol. As always, she carried her box camera and tripod. I saw her carefully picking her way through the trees. Then she was there, standing in front of me.
"Do you know why I am here?" she called up, as she slid a plate into the camera.
"To take my picture?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"No," she laughed. It was like sunlight glinting from water, strangely out of place and magical in the middle of the moonlit wood. "I'm here to take your picture, when you're ready of course." She disappeared behind the box, threw the cloth over her head and peered at me through the pinhole.
"I don't, I don't understand," I said.
"The Maker is with you," she replied, calmly and muffled. "And it is time to realise where you hide your hope."
"Where I hide my..."
Flash. I was blinded for a moment by a cloud of smoke. Then she was gone. The camera was gone. The forest was dark and silent and the stars were twinkling through the trees.
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