My Diary

June and I stood like trees at the very edge of a wood, we waited the time it took for a single idea to travel across a row of perching birds and then went to town; she with a happy field full of animals and me beside the forlorn winter hedgerow. I came home with a cup to toast the ancient gods and a cloth to wrap myself in at the newly frozen dinner table. During the distant whale calls afternoon I moved about the garden with my insides full of straw, searching for shelter in a visceral table top world. I only had the occasional moment to view the scarecrow mirror, each time there was an unknown person standing behind me as if someone else’s memories had somehow managed to creep into my own head. This was very odd as I always remembered to shut the gate.

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