A Dream -- Friday 4 September

I'm dancing with Archimedes on a moonlit cobblestone street, his ginger fur aglow like the stars above. Shadows of vintage hats sway gently from pigeon perches as we twirl, each step echoing Romanticism's reverie for rural life. In my mind's eye, a lightly colored molten gather is dipped into a pot of molten red glass, its sheets blown into the cobblestones beneath us, laminating time itself. I wonder if this is how those wanderers before me felt too, their worlds spinning in mine as stars whisper secrets to Galileo.