• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 10

those days we walked on water

started with good coffee and a kiss and always one of those skies of blues and lighter than air unravelling balls of cotton wool clouds – and warmth – that type that mellows the bones and blushes the skin without drying lips or eyes – and fresh dustings of snow that you can see all the edges of snowflakes in and watch your breath describe love – and hoarfrost on interestingly pruned bushes and trees in the park – sounds of thunder stirring – a night of Persaid shooting stars – scents of cut grass and honeysuckle and ice-cream and toast and toast and toast – our shoes never chaffed – muscle and bone took us far and kept us near – fens – mountains – canal tow paths – a road between fields of wheat and barley at Sunk Island and those seals on Stone Creek Channel sandbank - what noises – and when we meet x, y or z and hugged and hugged – those days of smiles in shop aisles – and dance – disco – ballet – hip hop – and music – and the thought that strangers can meet and work out what bodies can do together and apart but mainly together – we did that – those days