la bicyclette

the days keep disapearing. in one week i fly.
across an ocean and hopefully i will find the familiar, no, i know i will. i will fill up my bag, i will hug as many people as possible, i will find cowboy boots, i will drink champagne with my mother the moment i land. toronto will be lush, bright and so full.
i think if i could bring just one thing back to england it would be my bicycle. but that was stolen years ago, i'm sure that is a good thing really, when i think about it. but it would be nice, bring me some speed to my everyday, rather i clomp home and back and home again.

even today, so changeable. we slept with the door open all night, in a field of elderflower trees as the fire burned slow and bold. the grey slowly moved in over night, daylight confused itself at dawn. it rained and rained.
too wet to even make coffee, we drove on. and somewhere in the afternoon,  still wet ground and leaves but we grabbed some warmth and drank a pink above the river, and wondered about morrocco, or ireland, or berlin.

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