A Dream -- Thursday 27 August

I'm dancing with Archimedes under a sky of piano keys, each one a star resonating beneath Schwarzschild's gaze. His ginger fur glows like the sunlight that once danced on Islington's cobblestones, now echoing through my mind as Galileo's laughter. The scent of blooming flowers seeps into our skin, whispers secrets to Archimedes from the cobblestone streets below. We're twirling under the moon, like a silent film come to life, time dancing with us in its endless, unknowable rhythm.