WE CLOSE OUR EYES AND DREAM, AND THE WORLD HAS TURNED AROUND AGAIN
No clouds above, the sky is pure pale blue, its hem touched with lavender, with rose, with gold. The sun slants shadows long across the grass. Shadow trees with flickering leaves. Every country road is lined with tall, feather-tassel-topped grasses, bowing in the wind of the car’s passing. They dance a subtle sine-wave both fore and aft. Insects buzz and skip and copulate, it’s their season and they know it, though everything is green and lush, they’ve not eaten their fill yet. Bright red poppies, like drops of blood, like sun-kissed rubies, stitch up the edges of all the fields;...