serious doubts on natural selection

Kramer's pillow had gone and he was now lying on something much harder. His eyes opened slowly and he looked around.
He was lying against the root system of a large, gnarled and very ancient tree but he felt good. The sun shone down and the breeze was warm. The sky was blue and the grass was green. A fire, the flames licking up a pyramid of small sticks burnt nicely a few feet away. The air was full of birdsong, butterfiles fluttered by, rabbits scurried down holes, peacocks and porcupines strolled across a manicured lawn, its newly mown, two-toned green lines spelling HARMONY in capital letters, and a gorilla, dressed in a pink tu-tu and jack boots, two sizes too big, danced to the weather forecast.

All was well with the world.
Kramer drifted on.
Dreams within dreams.
Wheels within wheels.
This wheels on fire!

Kramer stared at the flames. The flames that flickered, the flames that licked, leapt and danced, creating images, visions, kaleidoscopes of colour that were never still. What a strange thing fire is thought Kramer. Stranger than fiction, started by friction. It broke into fractions, fractures, fissures, pressures. Fire in his heart, fire in the hearth, fire in his belly, fire in the soul. Dragons fire.

Kramer watched the dragonfly hover on the reeds that lined the river which was a few yards away. He could hear the soft lapping of the water against the banks and a water rat swam effortlessly across with a lazy front crawl and disappeared into it's hole on the opposite side and closed the door behind him. Suddenly the water was alive. Dolphins leapt, arched and dived back in. Multi-coloured turtles performed a synchronised swimming routine wearing tiny clips on their noses. A sea-horse complete with saddle and jockey refused at an open ditch and brought down the rest of the field. A small scale-model of the Cutty Sark, manned entirely by fish, passed in full sail. "God bless Captain Vere" shouted one and leapt over the side only to be rescued by a tiny lifeboat with the word Titanic printed neatly on the side.

Kramer stirred and changed root. Now he stood and looked for the first time at the tree he had been lying against. The root system was extensive, twisting and coiling until each one disappeared into the damp, leaf mould covered ground. Small holes could be seen with obvious signs of their furry inhabitants. Acorns, hazel and beech nuts, half eaten lay all around. Strange fungi, some brightly coloured, others drab olive green or a pale biscuit, sprouted in cracks and crevices. Death Caps and Panther Caps, Destroying Angels under Parasols. "Eat me,"they seemed to say, and Kramer was tempted.

But was that an elf that Kramer saw, climbing to one of the larger burrows just on the other side of the tree, or had his eyes deceived him? Life under the Great Deceiver. Mind over matter. The Mad Hatter. But it didn't matter.

Vines hung from the branches, twisting around the great trunk before wrapping themselves around the roots, adding to the entanglement.

The breeze whipped up a shower of sparks from the embers of the fire, which rose up only to turn into fireflies, great swarms of them, dancing a dance of death for an audience of just one.

Then another figure, half glimpsed in the now fading light. Again no sign.

Kramer searched, now scrabbling in the loose earth until his hands hit wood. He thought first that it was a large box, but he was wrong. He brushed away some soil, twigs and fallen leaves to find the rusty handle of a trap-door. It opened with great difficulty.

Kramer climbed down under the tree and disappeared.