The last of my long days in the garden: June was back at work and left the house early as a sequence of numbers which she hoped will be repeated in reverse when she returned. I had dreamt that the lady at the bottom of the road had recited a spell and every living thing could now talk; unfortunately when I went outside everything was silent - and remained so even when I cut the grass. Maybe there is a world where the grass cuts humans; in which case I hope I find myself in a genteel compost heap, away from the bright green rabble. I laughed at my own jokes as a relatively small lump of earth floated overhead, I was pleased it already had a small tree growing in it. June came home in time to watch the christening of a new space crossbow; from this I will explore the universe.
June and I waited in the bow of ship partly submerged in sand; in the distance a Kraken was regrowing from the tip of its own tentacles. The little Vikings came with their long boats in their hands; I asked if they had got their own sand yet and we then walked to town to eat and play: we ate under a banyan tree (along with a group of quite plump people) and then played on the flat and gasping tongue of a dragon - luckily I had a drink in my bag and church bells rang as I opened the top. We all walked home in the footprints of a herd of small dinosaurs; I felt confident I could name my steps after the Kings and Queens of England but only impressed myself and the old man playing a grand piano with his teeth who was ambling along behind with the trailing edge of his coat on fire.
I got up, ignoring the figure with old newspapers for hair and made myself a breakfast of Celtic field patterns. June was munching on the side of a small boat, purportedly made from toothpicks by a French prisoner during the Napoleonic wars. We went out for dinner after I had planted more miniature soldiers - remembering that the soil has to have the appropriate spent cordite and shrapnel content. I came home after dinner leaving June berthed at Long Beach, California. I then played more war games with botanical specimens - sadly neither side could claim victory. When June was ready to come home I walked to town again with a fragment of the Wansdyke earthworks on my forehead. As expected a group of ramblers came up and insisted on walking along it.
I had to go to town, after putting it off all week, pulling small red worms out of the burgundy carpet in one shop and bent nails out of strips of clenched wood in another. A classical sculpture gave me the only leaf it had and I unceremoniously gave it to the rabbit when I got back home, along with messages from various museum specimens in their serried rows of glass jars. I was tempted to call the jars a glass orchestra and then compose a piece of music to represent the result of the Permian extinction as written on an old wall in Olympus - this would have been built just before the gods had discovered religion. I then made the silhouette of a crying nun with my hands in front of another wall and subsequently cheered her up again with the fluttering shadow of a peacock butterfly.
It rained today and I smeared mud on a glass pane and waited for the inevitable faces to emerge and then busied myself potting plants on an old table. In an unashamedly black mood I imagined the table being used in the past for dissections and midnight autopsies and pretended to map out the lives of unknown organisms with pieces of coloured string. Then as the grey clouds parted I saw the rain forest on a sheet of wood followed by a blinding white light which I suspect was caused by several people simultaneously having the same thought. June came home later than expected after having begged a lift from Gary Cooper who had ridden out of town two minutes before midday. I heard the train arrive and then walked the dog along the railway line before a later than usual dinner.
I settled back to a week of working in the garden, after having spent the night on an ironing board with the hot iron balanced over my chest like a Sword of Damocles - unfortunately Alexander the Great muddled up legends and cut the knot and I spent the rest of the day with a Romanesque arch in the middle of my torso. As the light faded bats issued forth although if I had been writing the story a pale figure would have looked out instead and sighed as a man in white armour flew off in a chariot pulled by swans. June came in tired and we made dinner between us from fireworks that hadn’t gone off and champagne bottles that had rebounded from the ship’s hull unbroken. I didn’t tell her that I now call the garden the Field of the Cloth of Gold and made all hoverflies and solitary bees princes and kings.
I had to go out, catching a dagger blade as it had just left the hilt and following it to a wound on a lying figure; luckily it was only superficial and I came home in a small red bus with giant black wings. I thought if I was in space it would look like a ladybird. I had found the old king in his court winding up lengths of time as if they were merely twine - I took a ball home with me and plan to tie up my own thoughts with it at some point. I went out into the royal garden and did a short shift as a shadow from a very old tree - the shadow itself was on respite, visiting the ruins of the palace of Thebes and paddling a box of thirty five millimetre slides up the Nile. When I got back home I returned to standing in the middle of a fence in lieu of the post.