Spring

It's Springtime and I am waiting now, waiting to move to somewhere else, and my days are sometimes spent sniffing bluebells, violets, wood anemones, and peering past waterfalls, into abbeys, and trying not to make too much noise in lanes that have warnings that they are "quiet lanes", and reading old magazines, found in the loft, like Look In, Smash Hits, My Guy, Just Seventeen, from the 1980s and 1990s, and deciding whether to keep golliwogs and bears that growl when you shake them, and Care Bears sticker albums and Twinkle annuals. Sometimes I attempt to cook anything with a weird name, like zelyoni or letcho, and sometimes there is skipping, and twanging guitar strings, or looking into glass globes in the garden that are full of strange red leaves, like it's another planet. One day I attempted to charm worms, but none appeared. When the planes stopped flying, I hoped for good sunsets, but the sunsets were hardly worth watching. The bumblebees are always trying to fly through the windows.