Unexpected visitors. An out of tune piano in a vestry room. Suggested song of a name on a gravestone and the man that sits near it, smoking a cigarette.
Two. Lincoln (1)
Memory of coming here before. A lifetime ago. Asleep in a van full of newspapers.
In the gallery; a room full of birdsong and a clock without a face.
Three. Lincoln (2)
Timing adrift. Echoes of morris men and appalachian guitar cases closed for the day. At leaving a bell rings.
Four. Lincoln (3)
A father dancing to his son’s silent song.
Five. North Hykeham
A wrong turning in the foyer and the theatre is invaded by children in swimming costumes. But the show must go on.
We lose a scarf and find it again, tied up in a bow around a lamppost. The square is deserted but we take a bow to say thankyou.
Our favourite picture on the wall; old, flaking, green door in its own glass frame.
Point of rest. A man in the restaurant asks us our business and we tell him this story. Turning a circle around the county… And tomorrow, some more.
We find a clue etched in plate glass. A girl in the square asks for a cigarette.
The 67’ BBQ and we hear Hendrix playing in the square.
Clock garlanded. Tea dancing. West coast to East and the sea is the wrong way up. Posters of psychics and cover bands, and we wonder how they might work together; conjuring the spirits of long dead entertainers.
Near the end of the circle (crop circle, clock circle), glad hearted welcome, the end of a christening. And here is a place where it’s all done for love.
Twelve (o’clock). One for the road…
We marked a widdershins circle around a big country under a larger sky.
On a sun dressed Saturday, they were bringing in the harvest. Fields full of sunflowers and roadside barrows of cabbage and beans.
And on a seaside Sunday, sudden season’s end (and even the funfair chip stalls told that they were frying fresh local new potatoes), the rains came down. We smiled a big wet smile.
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