Skyberries and Voidmelons or Voidberries and Skymelons

In the forest, there are tiny islands, each made of only one tree. They appear to be floating through the rivers, but their roots twist and cling tightly to the riverbed. Leafless branches sway in time with the ripples in the water and my hair begins to swirl across my face as I try to peer at their reflections.

gevurah and I imagine ghost trains trundling along the dismantled railway that we begin to walk the route of near to Slap Bottom and towards Sway. I sip rhubarb wine and wonder where my destination would be, if I was on that train.
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Sunday, ephoscus and I visit an exhibition that "explores what it means to be human in today’s world", at the Bargate Gallery. We tiptoe around encyclopædias covered in white dust and projected video speckles and then stare at photos of Bournemouth beach that look like an alien landscape,

At Mayflower Park, we dangle our feet towards the seaweed, while watching the water twinkle at us, as if glitter has been daubed across it. Southampton's elusive "beach" is also in view: the tiny metre of sand, where a fisherman stands, and even that seems somehow magical in the bright sunshine.