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The wind blew and blew and birds attacked birds up in the thermals bits of bird intestine
dropped from the sky and studded the grass. The hefty cows and horses plodded and
dented the earth churned up mud, puddles. His life puddles and mud, some uncheery
sitcom. Or some serial killer programme where he was one of the forgotten victims, an
addendum, a body dumped in a lane in amongst the mud and blackberry bushes, home to
insects and worms and buzzing now as he didn’t do in life, colonised. Singing like the seven
dwarves on their way to work.
