Oh yeah, about the tracks which have appeared on the surface of the new planet. You are to blame. 

Alas, it has come to be that I am waiting infinitely. Standing alone in my garden at dusk wondering if he thought to leave a message for me with the moon when it left him. As it swings into view I try to catch his reflection in the glow. How many stars were in your sky? My precious globe doesn’t see you coming soon but I know I will never let it fall to the ground and shatter.  I’ll stand by my vagabond, will he ever stand by me too?


It used to be that having a ‘heavy heart’ was a metaphor for melancholia, but in recent times Doctor’s have discovered multiple cases whereby a patients heart has physically turned from muscle in to solid gold. It’s a further sign of our times that this medical phenomenon has commonly lead to self-mutilation on a patients behalf, to dissect their own heart for it’s worth. 

For many generations, our home has been in the undergrowth. We scuttle awkwardly with the insects by teasing our limbs into crooked shapes, and listen to the grass above us brush in the wind. We can twist through the tightest roots and beg witness to the quietest of wildlife. Some may know us as the Huldra and others as the Skogsfru. It doesn’t matter how you refer to us, but you should know now of our secret which sits atop the tallest pine in our wood. We think it is your time. 

I’d never known of a butterfly to be a burden until this Painted Lady found its way into my line of sight and locked upon me, dancing a jagged dance closer and closer my way, it’s fluttering wings sending heavy waves of breeze toward me, it’s antennae probing me from afar and it’s neutral tones mesmerizing me. I observed it peacefully until with a simple, twisted swoosh it flew supernaturally straight at my face and through the pupil of my eye to reside in my mind. 


Wasting days in the dark, hiding from the sun, wondering how to create some ancient history for another generation. It should be easy to be clever with language but I’ve been too busy reading your memory and quite simply put, you have not lived your eight centuries to their potential and that alone is blocking my electricity.

I could sense that quite simply she was going to be the first of her kind to die and in my mind I held a private screening in which I ran, in quite some style, and threw myself desperately at one of Dali’s confused clocks, hoping we’d land yesterday. Le Fin. I need your help here.


I lie as near to the edge as possible, as I dare, kicking my legs over and letting my hair drape across my shoulder in that casual but considered manner, mildly hoping that some freak gust of lunar wind might tip me over and send me tumbling down to the Earth. Notice how I use the word ‘mildly’ and the phrase ‘as I dare’. I can see the vast ocean, twisted in turmoil, down there. It’s quite sad really. 

I can’t even conjure the drive to describe the moon as you want me to.

What’s this you heard about a jade rabbit?