A mask in the corner will not think. Leave it there, on the stool, for the school children to walk past in the cold morning on the way to their buses.
Follow the cat down the street past the cars, past the locked windows with the blinded curtains mashing their indifference to the cold, to the ice.
Gasping like a grey faced old man in an oxygen mask outside the cancer ward, indifferent to the boxes and the files and cases building up, impassive, careless.
The fat woman with the glasses, mentally retarded, sitting beside her radio. 'A Case of You' coming out through the static. This is her life, this is her dream.
The truth, full of files and papers, shudders under her weight.
...
"The cold and rook-delighting heaven is grey and vast". Once again I am here, in this forest, walking past the school gates.
The tree overhead bursts open - a wood pigeon, frantic, hurrying across the field. It does not see the ground below. Focused, flapping. Like a naked, motherless child. Lost, wandering, meaningless.
Graffiti scratched into the stile. Climb over, force yourself to continue trudging upwards.
There was a time with people and snow and a blue jumper. A flash, a shutter, a summer day.
"May I hold your hand?"
Photographing the cows and then the top of the final destination, looking out, planning the future. The escape, the moment when life would begin, not realising that it was all there.
"The moments passed as in a play strutting and frutting".
The characters' dead bodies are decomposing on the silver water.
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