"I dream a lot about Asper. I dream I am standing on the hill, looking down at the river Schelde. There is a house in the valley and, in my sIeep, it is yours. I wander through the fields, stroll along the roads. I look at the gardens, peer into houses, see people who don't see me. Sometimes I lie beside the river that ripples softly. The trees bend over me to admire their own soft greenery, reflected in the water. Walking over sandy paths past verges blossoming with humming cow parsley, I find your house.

Although it looks different in each dream I know it is yours. I recognise the iron gate separating your property from the road. Just as in reality, it is always open. The yard is warm and full of flowers. But you are never there to greet me, to show me the vegetables, the growing crops and the harvest. I search for you outdoors but I cannot find you. I lose my way in your small house, which in my dreams is infinitely large, and much darker than in reality. The rooms are deserted, cold, with cobwebs hanging from the windows. It smells of dampness and mouldering wood. I feel lonely as I awake. Aren't you ever afraid? Of the darkness above your meadows, of the ghosts in your rooms?"
(From "Dear Martha", original in Dutch)