I had an early start carrying a scythe over my shoulder. Jack and his bean stalk were coming home by the time I got to the fields where all my memories were dressed as werewolves. I stood before the expanse of grass and howled, my past howled back, and then it rained forcing me inside were the Buddha was talking to his disciples. I walked on lotus blossom until I could remember my own name. I had to go out again in the evening; most of the girls walked on cinders.
It was an apricot morning and I knelt before the stone to contemplate the endless line of black and white images that had flitted by all night. A wizened old frog in the garden was later caught by camera trying to open a can of worms – June was riding a pit pony at the very edge of the shot. I had some time in the coloured sawdust arena before the clowns came to take me to work so I built a village out of small plastic bricks and imagined myself tiny enough to live in it.
I laid in on a flying saucer as numerous people went up and down the street. I called the street Horace and tried recollect some of its verse before falling down a wormhole and getting up feeling more tired than when I had gone to bed. I chastised the giraffe for taking my tie and then borrowed a belt from a rogue elephant who had been terrorising the neighbourhood for years. I had a free day so I put a pretend face on and tried to recite the alphabet in several different languages at once.
We had to take our pet dinosaur to the vet again so I got up early enough to walk blindfolded along the side of an aeroplane wing. When we got back in I took the blindfold off and was surprised to find my nose had been landscaped with an informal lake were my mouth had been and a gothic folly placed firmly on my forehead. I picnicked on my facial features before becoming a paper strip of children and fluttering to work. I opened the door to be greeted by a number of giant rodents drinking at the bar.
I talked to the various versions of myself while reclining on a giant paper aeroplane which I had been using as a bed – only some of me replied. June could be heard in the subway below calling out as the trains sped by. We both held pictures of extinct animals in our hands; mine from the great age of reptiles, hers from the age of birds which occurred immediately after their demise. Later I clapped as her more recent avatars modelled the latest fashions for the fuller figure. She went to bed in a tin of biscuits.
My wife and I decided to spend a day in the garden – she was dressed as a nun with a replica of a ruined abbey on her head; I was dressed as Henry the Eighth before he gained weight. Behind our rose covered bed a pendulum swung to and fro, June came out when the sun shone and I emerged in the rain. After the final storm we both retired to a circular stone house she christened the desert igloo – I had to go to work so she counted camels, making a note of those small enough to go through the eye of a needle.
I stood up on the ski slope after all the snow had gone, tied myself to a tree and waited for the family to sail by in supermarket carrier bags. I had previously noticed that a hedgerow was growing out of the side of my head and I winced as a stoat shot out trying to catch a rabbit – it ended up with a top hat. After we had a dance in the still damp sand I measured our foot prints and did a calculation to determine the mass of the sun several billion years ago. I chilled as the iceman knocked the door.