When the night air is warm and soft I'll go walking. It's like floating on a pink cloud. Nothing grabs hold of me and everything seems to simultaneously appear and vanish. And all I do is walk in a straight line and feel the current of the breeze lift me off the street...
Usually I land in a dream. Skimming the boundaries between reality and fantasy. Where the imagination takes off and the clock begins ticking....
The rabbit hole splits in four directions : North, East, South, West : and the reminiscence of child-hood sand-boxes, play structures, and swings becomes horrifyingly evident. I can almost make out the shadows darting across my field of vision as long-lost playmates, but can only hone in on their footsteps beating across the pavement. I have time to smile before a more sinister fog envelopes my thoughts.
Usually it starts as a benign sensation that dissipates into the recesses of my mind; revolving around vacant corridors until it is driven out by the necessity to feed upon those who wave grown accustomed to its movements. And by then it is often to late to see it coming...
