What to do with yourself, while you are waiting for an outcome that is inevitable, but hasn't yet happened?
I walk, in the last month of this coldest spring, down the lanes: even in chill here come the fork tailed birds of summer; fat bees, the first fruit on the wild strawberry. Such calm, such soothing words. I have my phone which I type on so slowly. There is no one for miles. There is a voice memo function. I speak the words about the fork tail birds, fat bees, first fruits. My voice quavers, a little. The phone hears this:
On this last month o underslung last man to disco disc brake hey come this tailored fit summer is that bees fresh fruit wild strawberry
Poetic comedy, exactly what is needed.
I say, Universe, I need a miracle.
Later, my car is stamped safe for road use for another year. I should have chosen my thoughts with greater precision.
Inevitable, but not yet happened. The white bells shine in hedgerow groups, gathered, congregational, sepulchral.