My Diary: Me As A Small Child Watching A Dogfight In An Adult Sky

Something,‭ ‬which may have just been the bitterly cold wind,‭ ‬pressed a message to the window.‭ ‬I couldn’t read it until I ran a diesel-electric locomotive through the station in my brain.‭ ‬Nor could I write a reply until I had examined the aircraft wreckage found under the sheets of our double bed and then watched the dissipating contrails of intersecting aircraft above the new houses across the road‭ ‬-‭ ‬in the window of the nearest one a small tabby cat was busy stroking a man.‭ ‬I walked the dog along a path of numbers and she then walked me along a path of words‭; ‬some I didn’t know although I noticed they rhymed‭ (‬I thought,‭ ‬for the briefest moment,‭ ‬that art is probably only finding rhymes among words we don’t know‭)‬.‭ ‬I was woken from this reverie when June came in dressed as a pink parakeet.

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