The Silver Trumpet Brayed

Follow that dream, follow that vision, follow the girl with the flaxen hair out beyond the lights of the village and on into the darkness that leads to another world. Follow her, if you can find her, and let her lead you to places that are only in your dreams. And she will lead you, if you let her, on and on beyond the warm lights of the village, further than the great tree out on the moor, what, further than that? And what is there, what lies beyond those lights?

What's there, out there on the heath where the pine tree grows and mad Tom walks (the pine tree again - how potent an image) He is Malcolm, 40 and looking for love and here is the 30 year old single mum from fife lonely and looking for friendship. And the ugly girl from Scunthorpe.

The river runs across our main road but does not slow us and the walk from one sad boundary to the other takes only a minute or two. From the church and its bones to the pit on the outskirts of town takes only a moment past the house where my grandfather lived and worked. It is the walk I walked from home to school so many times and did not know. It was there I ate almost on his doorstep and did not know - did I soak in so much there on the outskirts of town and the road that leads away?

posted by Weasel @ 8:39 PM