I rearranged the toy soldiers on the battleground bed, creating a formation I have christened the “phoenix sinking”. June had got up an hour before and was marching around the living room with vacuum flask guns firing hot water friezes. She was picked up by a two winged figure and they pitched a tent on a hill overlooking the town to watch a procession of people falling down it through the ages; the farther back they looked the less likely it was that the person would get up again. I had stood in the garden in the morning looking like a pole waiting for its totems - several did arrive but refused to emerge from the undergrowth. As the heat began to win prizes in an imaginary garden fete I left the bran sack field and went indoors, the cracks in the paving admiring the creases in my jeans.