June made a tunnel out of newspaper and then read herself to work. I had to wear my time machine hat and go back to the place where tall trees were just young boys. I talked to a thin sapling and then to myself, ate a handful of kaleidoscopic biscuits and came home with the telephone in my back pocket waiting to ring. As the doughnut in the sky began to ooze jam I retired to the sanctity of the cat cave and made poetry from paw prints instead of words (although I was stuck when it came to punctuation). A bugler sat on the roof holding a harp, I climbed up about midday and replaced it with a frying pan; he came down sometime later with fried eggs as eyes - I thought to myself that he would have a strange story to tell; but then so has everyone else who cries on our roof.