| ...and they'll give us a talking to, cause they've got years of experience.. Where a sofa cushion serves as a bed and the sacred little fan from tescos fends off all the undesirables with their unlikely attempts of mass delusion. The little ones run and chant in chorus and their footfalls can be heard for miles, even from over the ridges we've passed o so long ago. Here, there is very little need of direction and the colors all run against each other but, finding it too difficult to blend, simply slide away again. Sounds dive over the spires and under bridges nudging the rivers as they go, go , and then up again past the steeples and then gone. And the show of it all; the colors, the sounds, the very too old children stomping out such well practiced mannerisms, is quite fondly enjoyable for its time. Though, when the little ones have gone off home and the sounds quiet down to attractive whispers and the colors and their lights, fully inebriated, tuck themselves away somewhere out of reach, we, those that stay, find ourselves in a world of our own; "I can see you", she said.
"And what of it", said he, and all the world new that in the darkness he smiled.
" You seem happy, thats all. I like it", she replied.
" I can't see a thing", he said, and they walked off together. |
