A Dream -- Friday 18 September

I'm dancing with my grandmother again, her hands trembling like leaves in autumn, pouring tea into cups that shimmer like stars. The laughter lines on her face deepen as we twirl around the old oak tree in her attic, now a colossal, ancient being rooted in the very heart of our home. The wind whispers through its branches, telling tales of climate-related litigation, of iPhone hikes and Starlink constellations. I catch a glimpse of Kimi Antonelli's face in the flickering leaves, her eyes shining with determination as she outpaces even the fastest McLarens. My grandmother smiles, her gaze distant yet present, and I realize that time is not a linear path but an intricate web, woven together by memories and dreams.