On one of my walks around Motovun, I came across a bunch of locals I knew well. I do not recall who they were, but we were quite friendly. I remember an elderly man and woman, their daughter, and the daughter’s son between two and three years of age. As we were talking and laughing, a hefty van appeared down the narrow street. The couple and their daughter went to a doorway to one side, but the toddler went to a doorway on the other side of the street. “Look,” the younger woman pointed toward the van, “an older woman behind the steering wheel!” I was concerned that the child would run to his mother and grandparents just as the van came close, and so I went to guard him. I stood next to the toddler, my back to the door, and I put my right hand close the little one’s chest without touching him. A bit uneasy about the sudden turn of events, the child looked up and our eyes locked together. I responded with a comforting smile, and the child smiled back at me by way of thanks. The van passed by and I woke up. Delighted by the dream, I realized that I must have dozed off soon after I woke up this morning. Typical of my dreams as of late, the exchange with the toddler was part and parcel of my daily life. Nothing to it, as it were. That tiny smile is still with me, though.