I dreamt that I was visiting a huge city with a large group of people. I do not remember much about the place, but my mother suddenly appeared while we were walking around a big square. She flew on a tiny helicopter that was completely open. Perched in front of it with her hands on her knees, she was tiny, too. Her face shiny and beatific, she looked and behaved like a toy saint. The helicopter did not make much noise. She stopped in midair in front of me and hovered quite high above the ground. “Come to me,” she said in a quiet voice. And then she turned around and flew toward a massive building at the edge of the square. “Sorry,” I told the people I was with, “my mother is calling!” I searched for her for a long time, but finally I came to a room where I saw one of my sons. I am not sure whether it was Marko or Dorian, though. Straddling a wooden bench, he was talking to my mother, who was covered by a wide, translucent sheet on the end of the bench. She was tiny, indeed. To talk to her, he had to lower his head until his chin almost touched the bench, lift the sheet, and cover his head with it. I was preparing to do the same, but I woke up before my turn.