There are only three months left of this incarnation of The Butter Mouse. After that the narrative will change, and there is a possibility things will never go back to how they were.
So today I thought we would travel to one of the farthest corners.
Imagine you are at the seaside, sitting on the beach, looking out over the ocean. Think of that spot where the water forms a thin strip on the horizon, like the join between the wall and the skirting board.
There is a place where the only spot to sit is a small mossy rock, and no matter where you look, that thin strip of water will be all around you. No matter what time of day, or what time of year, the sky above is golden, with popcorn coloured clouds. The waves lap at the minuscule island, never strong enough to overwhelm this last bastion of land.
You have to dive to find the true existence of this world. The light turns the water sapphire all the way down to a bed of golden sand. Interrupting this level plain is the odd jut of a seaweedy brick, and something that was once the head of a statue.
But these are all gone now.
All that is left are the sea creatures. Some are like giant manta rays the size of London buses. Others are more like seals, but with tails that curve round like a mermaids. Perhaps the Platonic form of selkies.
There are more, but this is not an ecosystem. There is no relationship between predator and prey. Everyone one of these beasts has been and will be around forever.
Their lot is to swim this ocean forever, swooshing round and round, riding on the currents in an eternal loop.
You can go to the rock on any day, and they will always be below the waves.
So no matter what happens next, you can always return to this spot. The Butter Mouse will always be at peace here.