You’re probably thinking this is a photo of a large patch of red hot pokers in the striking shingle landscape of Romney Marshes, and you’re right, it is. As beautiful as this photo is, the real magic happens at night in the presence of a real live Seeker, whereby in response to an ardent and sincere question posed by said Seeker, the pokers shoot up into the night sky and explode like fireworks to spread the answer to the question across the night sky. The reader may well notice that a lot of my stories document real life instances of prescience, prophecy, and prediction. I should explain that this is because I find life very confusing and have therefore been a Seeker since I was a child. Ergo, my sensitivities are particularly attuned to moments in which I can cop a plead for a little bit of clarity, and so that
These are The Three Teasels, they’re anxious for your song request. Individually they’re called Fiona, Bottombubs, and Nibs, but most people just refer to them in the collective. In the background is Frederico the Oak, who was once hit by some lightning and from whom The Three Teasels draw their power. The Tree Teasels absolutely love to sing. In particular, they like to perform love songs; they’re keen to understand human romance, since it’s mostly absent from the plant world. I say mostly, but of course you will expect me to whip out some exception from the knowledge of whoever the fuck it is that dictates these stories to me. (It’s sunflowers, just in case you were wondering; the exception I mean, not the dictator.) Anyway, what The Three Teasels love the most about love songs is the wide variety. They feel learning and truly feeling the array of love songs