​A woman woke up to discover that she was no longer a person but a floating island, a mass of vegetation: aquatic plants, mud and peat, many hectares in size. Her vastness extended beyond her sight. When she explored around her she discovered that the water below was rich in life, so rich that even the slightest awareness of it made her drunk. It felt, the way states do temporarily, fleetingly, like a wonderful place to be.
Time passed. "I hate the way time passes", she said to herself, disgruntled because the water around her was cooling, her euphoria abating. She couldn't bear the way the warmth she had experienced, that had been mixed with the richness, had vanished or was vanishing. It was hard to accept her powerlessness.
Strong winds began to blow and they tore her into sections, some of which attached to an area of shore while others migrated. Some fibres attached themselves to other matter, other detritus, and made their way to a shoreline on the other side of the Atlantic.
On the shoreline a fictitious floating island had arrived from the sky. It was a free-floating island that directed itself, like a magic carpet, to the places it wanted to visit, places that amazed. It had the strong rich green, yellow and red of the aurora borealis, the same vibrancy. The fibres that had crossed the ocean and the floating island that had arrived from the air found each other alongside each other on the beach.