At the end of a lane in the deepest Welsh country side, a small child sits against the summer heat of a mossy stone wall. The sky is clear cornflower. The small thing puts her hands onto the sodden ground on either side of her muddy legs to press and push herself up to standing. She glances to her left then right, shiny locks bouncing on her shoulder, and sets off down the rubbly path. She has made a decision. As she sat against the mossy wall she watched a snail glide towards her. Ever since her mother taught her how to say "escargot", she had felt an affinity towards the creatures. As she watches, she thinks how funny it is that cars go so fast, and "escargo’s" so slow. Small child laughter can be heard down the lane. Little girl found joy in packing up her most important dress and toys and tea set into a wicker suitcase. She knew if she were a snail, she’d be fine. And so she sets off.
In a moment when she reaches the end of the path, she will be met by a small boy, his mother, and his dog. As she catches pace walking down the lane, from her pocket drops the key that her mother gave her to their back garden gate. Our girl is under the first guard of responsibility that her short life has so far encountered. She does not notice the key fall from her gingham tresses and land in the central strip of grass.
Moments later she is trotting proud pony like across the village green in the direction of the beach with her best friend, his mother, and his dog. They are supping milky ice creams and pretending to speak French. Around the wrist of her companion is a bright plastic bucket and in it a wooden spoon. They are going to search for treasure and pearls in the sand. He was told by the toad in his garden that pirates landed on the shore last night, and that there will be much for the picking when they get there.
Down on the beach a solitary woman lays star shape in the middle of the deserted sand. She is equal distance between dunes and tide. Her skull rocks back and her eyes look up from beneath the cornflower sky. Her fingers push under fingernail deep into the hot grit. Oversaturated with quick media, she comes to the beach. She longs for an empty head and a full soul. She has listened and engrossed her interest in a great tree that will not blossom. The shiny blooms of the first year and second are today wilted and tired. Today she sits on the beach and minute after minute she stares up into wondrous colour, and hears only water from the deep blue sea.
I walk across the sand, allow the tops of my toes to drag across the heat.
In a moment when she reaches the end of the path, she will be met by a small boy, his mother, and his dog. As she catches pace walking down the lane, from her pocket drops the key that her mother gave her to their back garden gate. Our girl is under the first guard of responsibility that her short life has so far encountered. She does not notice the key fall from her gingham tresses and land in the central strip of grass.
Moments later she is trotting proud pony like across the village green in the direction of the beach with her best friend, his mother, and his dog. They are supping milky ice creams and pretending to speak French. Around the wrist of her companion is a bright plastic bucket and in it a wooden spoon. They are going to search for treasure and pearls in the sand. He was told by the toad in his garden that pirates landed on the shore last night, and that there will be much for the picking when they get there.
Down on the beach a solitary woman lays star shape in the middle of the deserted sand. She is equal distance between dunes and tide. Her skull rocks back and her eyes look up from beneath the cornflower sky. Her fingers push under fingernail deep into the hot grit. Oversaturated with quick media, she comes to the beach. She longs for an empty head and a full soul. She has listened and engrossed her interest in a great tree that will not blossom. The shiny blooms of the first year and second are today wilted and tired. Today she sits on the beach and minute after minute she stares up into wondrous colour, and hears only water from the deep blue sea.
I walk across the sand, allow the tops of my toes to drag across the heat.
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