Fragments of language wash up in the semi-consciousness between waking and sleeping, which the watching brain scrambles into near-sense and non-sense.
Fragments from a lost valley society...that much was clear. Perhaps sea-levels rose to demolish and digest a midden of these mostly inconsequential missives. No, not letters. More, stories...perhaps a coming of age gift would be a bone book of these ordinary stories of the people.
'Tying a ribbon on his shoe – 'well, we're not quite sure about those two.'
'What it's like to be addled with...[lost or illegible]'
'My old lass and my extinction...'
'I'm not as old as I sound I was...if you cut me trunkwise and count the rings.'
'It happened one day, God's country...'
'My bright green uncle...'
'''It happened one day'', I said it screwingly...'
'She must be looked at like a person!'
'It'll be the first one though – jeeez.'
'I don't mind king paper and the calf paper.'
'He needed all the necessary darts.'
'People were lifting that noisy ogg (?) [indistinct/illegible]