Caedmon Comma

Caedmon,

Today I watched you sleeping in my arms. Beneath your closed lids, your eyes moved, painting a dreamscape. What do you dream of?

Dreams feed on the events of our days. But you have only been here for a matter of hours. What do you dream of?

Could it be that your dreams are filled with memories of the days when you lived within your mother. Do you dream of a place, warm and liquid, where the world is at peace and closed? Do you hear the harmonies of the utopia that you came from?

I hope, my son, that your days out here will be full of dreams dreamed and dreams fulfilled.