June had a wet weather appointment and went to drizzle town with her pet combine harvester trundling along behind. I was in clockwork railway engine attendance and rained part of the way and rumbled like a main battle cloud the other. Only half in jest I envisioned the giant key protruding from my back as a can opener – as the stranger approached I would spill the beans! June and I met again under a bridge which had several larger bridges arching over it – two children on the uppermost structure dropped sticks onto the one below – they never moved an inch. June bent over to watch the empty water and I noticed that the cornfield on her head had the footprints of Vincent van Gogh running across it. If I had been wearing boots I would have followed them.