Living

Dreamworld Visitations

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If I’m lucky, they’ll tell stories of the journeys they take across landscapes as alien as anything in Oz. “I ended up in someone’s garden,” they explain. “Only they were a sort of – scarecrow accordion? I apologized, and they let me cut through their house.” “Why did you need to go through their house?” I ask, and they pause, thoughtful. “Because that was the easiest way to get to you.”