My Diary: My Shadow Can Think For Itself

I spent the briefest of moments balancing one bald head on another before donning a hat for a green to brown walk with June.‭ ‬We passed the disheveled disciples of a little known dog headed deity and then its runaway congregation of rainbow trout torsos.‭ ‬After a wait in the very middle of the bridge‭ (‬two versions of Horatius were standing at either end‭) ‬we ended up sitting like slices of white bread on a plate of wholemeal.‭ ‬Outside a couple of polar bears stood in a forest clearing surrounded by grizzlies‭ ‬-‭ ‬I imagined a circle of closed doors with a single key thrown down the well in the centre‭; ‬of course the well suddenly transforms itself into a camp fire and the oldest person there,‭ ‬who looks like a gaoler,‭ ‬pulls sweet chestnuts and baked potatoes from the embers of the fire.


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