'I can't help feeling that we're leaving something behind. Whether it's something we've forgotten or a book we should have picked up, or someone we should have said goodbye to, I don't know. All I know is that in this dream we're leaving. And I have a feeling of dread, an empty feeling of loss almost. I want to go back. Where ever this road is going, I don't want to go there. Then I look out to the green lagoon on the right-hand side of the road. It's temptingly inviting, but painfully out of reach now. Then, all of a sudden, they're here - the messengers: the immaculate portents of things to be. Here they come!'
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