Me.

David Corcoran.

Corcoran David.

Names.

Words.

Lute.

I slept fitfully that night. And although I had gone to bed quite late, I woke up very early. I was wide awake and felt a strange restlessness inside me. I got up and walked barefoot to the window of my London hotel room. Outside, a gray day was dawning.

A haze had settled over London. Light drizzle trickled from the sky.

I looked out and took a pinch of the salt of life.

That calmed me down a bit.

Suddenly I saw a face with incredible intensity in front of my inner eye.

The woman whose face I saw had shoulder-length hair with a red cast. She was wearing a light summer dress. Her eyes were wide with fear, her mouth half open. She was trembling. In the background I thought I could make out something like a gravestone. A cemetery! The realization shot through me like a ray of lightning.

The whole thing lasted no longer than a heartbeat.

Then it was over.

What does that mean, I asked myself? A picture from the future? Or from the past? Or from a faraway place?