The loneliness of the lockdown canoeist

He passed under our local bridge as we were walking home at dusk, green stern and prow with a scarlet cockpit and a surprisingly phallic water bottle between his legs. The leaves were like stars on the inky water of the canal and the paddle seemed to be writing something elvish, runes expanding in the slow moving wake. For a moment I felt transported.

We need to find a way to explore the universe from home for a while. I might try inducing visions through meditation, being too old for drugs ...