Memoirs of a Life Unlived

The pasture rolls a little, sweet and plain, perhaps a little boring. Herding cows ignore you. You unfold the map again: blood and mud cakes the mouldboard of the plough. Your Brabants' musty sweat-steam in your eyes, you squint and hear the fragile thrum of cars along the A19, that cawing crow that flies in a long sag. Sudden strong sunlight mars the clearest view you had of slender smoke. You stop mid-field, removed of shade and hope.

Five o'clock winter lowers eyes - blue whale heart rate of an anxious man - the stories plod on and the Cola can tries so hard, but will not revive. Clapperboard blink - you're on your feet exploding across the South Circ divide, the frantic positioning stands astride sweets and tobacco in burnished racks. Pass in the doorway, spy the blade, chase like there's meaning in all of this; know in a moment forever you'll miss - frayed, discoloured - a life so vast.