I got up wearing a hat kindly given to me by an aide to napoleon on the eve of the battle of Waterloo (or was it Victoria). The rest of my clothes dated from the multi-dimensional wars of the Thirty Fifth Century. June followed me downstairs with the names of several saints written on her dressing gown. I touched the middle of Saint Catherine before exiting the flying house to fall like acid rain on a small copse I caught instead of the bus. I travelled into the spiral pattern countryside where I talked with a large wood (in his younger days a forest) about green leaves turning brown in autumn. I said there would always be new shoots in Spring as the world itself didn’t exist only our interaction with it. After this we parted like the tributaries of a once mighty river.