For two days, the 25th and 26th May, our man in E17 was very nearly lost in a maze of deceptively luxuriant canopies layering the site. Ranunculaceae rashes, piercings of worcesterberry thorns, the nephrotoxicity of towering wealds of acid bitter rhubarb, hallucinations induced by myriad flickerings of hazel nut leaves; a pastoral dream machine scratching at the retinas and playing in the mind of a wandering field student.
Our man in E17 entered the field prepared for the possibility of loss and disorientation. Although he was tormented by the lush abundance of vegetation, he was able to use the small pair of scissors in his miniature swiss army knife to cut one of his wellington boots into a long length, a yarn along which he might be followed and recovered from the forest garden of his unearthly melancholy.
So it was this morning we were amazed to find in an illuminated glade at the end of the rubber trail no physical remains of the field student, but instead the field student transmogrified into a cool pool of light emanating from the forest floor and flora.