squirmelia | Tiptoe towards the naked man, the witches, and the world

In the waves at Boscombe, a small fluffy feather drifts next to a maroon ball of seaweed. I look out dreamily past the nearby peaks that are reflecting light as if they were oil, and let my gaze wander further outwards. I try not to let the boats into my line of sight, and then tread water far enough out that the shrieking of children becomes too fragmented for me to notice. My fingers become so pale that I imagine they are chips floating in the sea. A mist covers the buildings when I look towards Bournemouth, and then I return to the land and plunge my hands into the warm sand.

When I arrive in Tiptoe, the dilemma arises of whether to actually tiptoe or to instead stomp my feet. I opt for both, and stomp towards Tiptoe, and then attempt a small bout of tiptoeing while I am actually there, followed by a little more stomping.

The Naked Man, in the New Forest, is not exactly as expected. The remains of an oak tree used for hanging people is a bit of an unpleasant contrast to the pretty, yet bleak surroundings. Amongst the vast quantity of pink flowers, I see a delightful blue butterfly, who is soon joined by a playful brown butterfly, and together they flutter in front of me. I come across a tree that has shed so many cones, that it is almost as if a dark spikey carpet has been laid, and many of the cones are joined together by the glistening threads of spiderwebs.

On the way back, we are suddenly lost, our phones have run out of credit, and somehow we are in Burley, where we see adverts for wagon rides, and then a plethora of witch-related shops.

After seeing a billboard, the question "world?" is asked many times. World? Do you want the world? Is this the world? Do you want to go to the world? Are you the world? Let me know.