My Diary

I spent the day inside; I couldn’t get out as each door was blocked by groups of small antelopes who had stopped off mid migration to exchange their travel money. June had taken down the curtains and the little boy inside my head walked the path between a scale model mechanical digger (who had been busy recording bird song for a new album) and the invisible home of a family of fairy tree surgeons (who had been out pollarding dandelions). As he skimmed a small stone across a placid lake I remembered the dew pond at the top of the hill and my mother having to go behind it – June put new curtains across the fish shaped windows. After this I pulled a white rabbit out of a pot of white paint and draped the closed doors in simulated waterfalls – when I opened them again steam came out.


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