“To hell with reality! I want to die in music, not in reason or in prose. People don’t deserve the restraint we show by not going into delirium in front of them. To hell with them!”
― Louis-Ferdinand Céline
When I think back, it never rained. On these days, the church spire reached proudly above the houses, the only thing higher was the fire ball sun.
Hedges, a fortress. Tomatoes and Marrows. Runner beans grow where the anderson shelter once stood. The land was utilised.
Beneath them – a trickle. Stand still and listen for it. Water everywhere.
On the edge of this big city, let me float with the babblng. The spring beneath feeds us all.