13th April 1671

Today we walk with violins,chattering on roots and leaky radiators and pianos waiting to fall. This landscape resembles candle wicks and dashes of Morse code.  The table has left us for a packet of parsnip seeds and the promise of pizzicato lessons after the 4th of Never. I think about kicking the chair, but my toes are attached, so I don't. We lie together, imagining geese instead of stones beneath our heads. Tomorrow is a hermit crab,stalking the horizon so I roll leaves into my ears for protection and hope it's crumpets for breakfast instead of slugs.

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