Last night I found myself wandering back through time. I lay my body down to sleep and my soul slips out to set sail on the old currents that still sometimes lap at my shore.

Last night I found myself wandering back through time. I lay my body down to sleep and my soul slips out to set sail on the old currents that still sometimes lap at my shore.

Not all moons are created equal. The journey through the deep treacle of the Aquarian balsam is no ordinary dark mooning. Descending like an otherworldly cloak as beneath its soft sparking folds you are transported, this caravan of selves.

Sometimes when you're deep in the countryside you'll meet three girls, walking along the hill tracks in the dusk, spinning. They each have a spindle, and on to these they are spinning their wool, milk-white, like the moonlight.