Late evening, sun’s gone down. All the baling done in the field opposite. Tractors now move in the not yet night with dipped headlights and yellow warning lights on top. Corncrake calls to my left. On the school road I see the lights on in Margaret’s kitchen as she prepares the supper for herself and Fraser. The midges are tormenting Connie, my cat. I lean against my fence and wish I could really feel as if I’m here but I can’t realise the moment. My disaster of a backyard. My house. Purple clover, queen anne’s lace. It’s so still out here.