‘Floating, weightless, the pressure holding me as though it were a vice. I hung in stasis for what can only have been eternity, somewhere between sleep and death…’
‘We woke to the sun breaking on our faces. Squinting from the brightness, we looked around to find that the desolation we’d gone to sleep amidst had vanished.’
We walked for days. The fleeting image had been more than a figment of our collective imagination, we knew it, and so we followed the trail of crooked lights deeper into the wilderness than any soul had dared go before us…
The forest was dark, mysterious, but not foreboding. Ethereal lights strung across the branches above our heads danced in an effortless breeze, their glow bouncing primordial shapes across ancient oak…
Writing up this week’s entry has been such a bizarre experience. Normally I’m not one to be stuck for something to say, but writing about my own track is like staring into the looking glass the wrong way.