Across
the light blue dressing of new road surface lies a layer of slopped dung,
bumped from a series of high-sided trailers, jigging along behind tractors,
from the muck store to the cut fields. The thing I recall most about my day is
how it smelt. Not pleasant, exactly, but reassuring: the cyclic nature of it.
Which part of the cycle you focus on, that’s up to you.
By
day; and that I am happily relating stench demonstrates the truth of this; the
writing, the editing and the bout of illustration all goes well. Today I do not
need rescuing by a Buster Keaton spider or culinary hypnosis. This evening I
stand outside, under a sky that would be clear if it weren’t for all the stars.
High beats and low bass sound out: a party in the direction of Treniffle. The
air is fresh, and stinks. Spread my hands palms upward, fill my lungs.
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:)