The bloke sends me ducks in a box once and now they three flee in a row from the side of the county down shed. Starboard wings glued back on after the frost. I have a shed of my own now. But it's good to decamp periodically to theirs for a defragging over a pan of mussels in sweet lemons from Crete. The city glows over there in a corner under next door's tree. Though the noise is deafened by the fields and a cow or a horse breathing I'm not sure behind the hedge who he is. The shed smells of garlic and wine and christmas stuffing from the freezer. I smoke and drain my glass in the darkly. The hedge sighs.
A late run by the tow-path, minnowsomethingmeadows leads over to that red chinese bridge. Well thats how I always thought of it when we used to chase our Da ahead on the bikes when he had knees. Always as far at least as the swans I dont expect there'll be any tonight. They belong to the queen I'm sure, perhaps she's asked for them back.
The light is putting on his pyjamas and I turn around before the n'erdowells clock on. And a swan with that silly necks of his glides into view for me. That was a surprise.