Last night I dreamed I was in a forest at night, carrying my violin in one hand and holding the hand of a little girl with my other. Hand. We came to the edge of a small lake that was frozen, but beginning to thaw at the edges, the most dangerous kind of frozen lake. I was wearing a short blue dress cinched at the waist. I gripped the little girl’s hand and skated out pulling her along. I skated and looked back and found I had carved a perfect Möbius strip into the ice. On the other side of the lake we approached a long black train with one open window. I lifted the girl into the window, handed her my violin, then hoisted myself in. We walked down the center of the train, and each side was filled with berths where children studied with books and slide rules and black boards, their heads down. Dusty chalk filled the air. The train was ominous, no parents anywhere. Perhaps the children were orphans. They were certainly not happy. I realized that we were in danger. We escaped somehow, and ended up in a crowded market in India.