Who sees the future, who knows the future, and who makes the future? If a wish or a dream comes true is it ours? Where did it come from? Why do we want it? Is life simply a coin toss floating in time waiting to be snatched and held? Do we make it happen? Is it a random snap of a finger instance moment selection, or can we choose which way to turn? Is it magic, illusion, something made from nothing? In the end there’s silence, peace after the last images of life fades from thought, and the whisper on our breath sounds a word. And, as the last word rolls off our lips into the eternal silence of a cool peaceful morning it’s broken, and this last flutter of time will offer a choice—be awake, asleep, dreaming or dead.