The bright tides lap over the world and all my friends and I can do is run. They morph everything into some chaotic approximation of its former self: a bee into a molten brass core, a window pane into an oceanview portal, a book into a thousand-legged predator. That which is touched by the thirsting light is changed. It’s reality unbonded to this universe. It remains in flux. Nothing is stable in the wake of the tide. So we run and run, our paths growing ever shorter. And I am beginning to wonder if there is a kinder reality behind that monumental wave of light.
Paddy Dobson
29th June 2021