Was it a dream? Perhaps a waking dream! Walking in the crowded by-lanes of the busy city. Lanes I have walked a million times before. Yet they seemed new. Like I was there for the first time. The shops, the Taj, the sea, the breeze, the yachts, the eateries, the sun beating down; they have been there from a time I cannot even remember. Why then did they feel so new?  Or was it just me, unchained, uncontaminated, youthful again! Tabula Rasa and endless possibilities?  Was it aleph? A memory I have lived many times before. A memory trapped in amber, struggling to burst out!  An old, discoloured photograph forgotten in time trying to desperately remind me of days submerged somewhere in my subconscious. Maybe I will never know.  But for those few minutes time had stopped. It keeps playing over and over again like a pin stuck on the vinyl tracks.  The walk, my very own Grecian Urn. My very own little joy forever. Or in the words of Maria “When the dog bites, when bee stings, when I am feeling sad, I’ll simply remember my walk down the lane and I won’t feel so bad.”