There exists a world bound up in straight lanes. With routes, that guide, divide and direct. Constructed such that, its bends curve, with precision, along the narrow and wide. To plot a course through these territories requires tedious commitment; however, its present obscurity is eclipsed by virtue of the bounty of clear skies up ahead in the distance. In the left corner of that world, a little over its edge, Possibilities though they may lie under darker skies, are infinite. Dangling from that very edge, a different world turns over to give way to all that the former has shut its door on. All conventions, restrictions, distinctions are here blurred. Thrown. To the wind. The rules of nature overturned. The nature of man disassembled. Enveloped in the smoke emanating from that air, shapes turn colour to embrace another life. And now hanging from that edge, I dip the tips of my toes in that swirling, twirling water, which, if it were to, would sparkle as it flowed in whichever way it was that I ordained it to. Lying in their shade, I would almost allow clouds to drape my psyche in a haze of colourful sensations. Of myths. Vivid and alive. But now. Head out of the sand, I dust off the fairy dust of make belief and slowly make my way back. Back up towards the straight and narrow.