My post-gig downtime in the Wood of Arp are so different to Lozowick. Out here you don’t know what to expect. Last night a row of candy canes with legs marched past my cabin like the mops in Fantasia. God knows who thought them up.
More about this forest next week. But for now let me finish how we got to the woods in the first place.
For our departure The Kandinsky shifted into four huge spheres. Ten little feet peeked from either side. With the transformation complete, we inched across the rooftops, be they thatched or made of concrete.
Lozowick makes you realise that other cities, no matter how amazing their culture and architecture, are limited by the economic practicalities of food and water, sanitation. Keeping the lights on. But in this metropolis these concerns vanish.
Streets covered in thick snow that lead to buildings hidden to their rafters in sand. These are not obstructions, but deliberate choices. Although I do not know why that choice was made.
Next to us in the skyline was a giant fabric bowling ball shape of a hot air balloon. Tied underneath was a wicket basket the size of a football field, containing a swimming pool full of lightbulbs. The vehicle lacked a driver, let alone any patrons. How did the water stay in?
A skyscraper appeared in front of us in seconds. A brutalist spaghetti junction unzipped back into the ground. A giant hamster wheel, empty but still rolling, bombed down the street. My window was ajar, and let in smells ranging from chip shop vinegar to petuli. The glass fogged with condensation, then rattled from the rain. New sensations, assaulted me until my head pounded.
Lozowick is amazing, But what if you popped to the shops, and they weren’t there anymore when you arrived?
We reached the edge of the city, and this part lives up to the name. The final street is ruler straight, and runs alongside a lawn hundreds of miles long. I bet every blade of grass is exactly the same length. The Wood of Arp starts a thirty second walk across this lawn, with a tree line no less straight.
I spotted oaks, pines and redwood, and a weeping willow with branches that touched the ground. But most were unrecognisable. Some curved almost to right angles, or others are smooth like plasticine. Others had unknown fruit the size of watermelons. Our vehicle hopped off an apartment block, and scuttled across the lawn. Within seconds of entering the wood, the world was silent, except for branches scraping against our hull.
We have been here for three days now. Unknown things runs past in the darkness. The Kandinsky moves forward, but this is a shift as significant as from light to dark.
Are there really bears here that are thirty foot long?
One last thing. The Butter Mouse shifted from her position on the shelf to look out the window.
Or maybe she moved when the engine started.
