It is a strong wind which blows needle children onto freshly mown grass and drifts confused starlings from trees, and for once I am at loss to stand tall in the face of nature's melancholy rage so I bide my time in refuge and sing songs from someone else's youth. The sweet calm of evening brought broken badgers and wooden legged emus who rummaged in foliage for chestnuts and slovenly luckless worms. The warm smell of woodchip filled the air as I stuffed my backpack with forest foods and badgers, I stumble ever forward as regret aims arrows at my back.
I cant wake myself from bad dreams or untie myself from trouble, fountains throw coins as if to swamp credence but I am burdened by sorrow, I am alone as twilight falls onto empty fields leaving me to walk as a soft limbed statue into future times of faded tales that no one will want to tell. They say the coffin is a home to everyone eventually and I know now that I shall treat it as a friend.
Our paths diverge and twist and run off to god knows where leaving us in places no one wants to be, Here we meet Jasper, grey faced and tired, a man without shoes or common sense but given the job of tying lightbulbs to trees. Jasper is a man of wisdom but also great stupidity, He tells us the names of mountains and points to the places where ghosts hide in snow, he then falls inconveniently off a cliff leaving only embers and undrinkable wine.