Mud

It has been raining, raining and raining for days. The earth is so soft and soggy that I could sink straight through. Or I could get my scuba gear and dive through to the other side of the planet. I do just that. The ground doesn’t offer much resistance, and I dive beyond the deep roots, which feel like spaghetti in a thick gravy. I can feel the roots living and breathing and writhing. I remind myself to be back on ground before the sun is out.

It has been raining, raining and raining for days. The ancient edifice of my mind rumbles and crumbles under its own weight. The bricks are preparing to break free from years of bondage. The ground gives away and I watch the edifice sinking slowly, painfully slowly, probably a few centimetres at a time. I figure there’s time for another dive before I board my sinking ship.

It has been raining, raining and raining for days. I sit on the chimney top, my feet dangling unselfconsciously, almost touching the soggy ground, the primordial soup.