I run in the rain, through the heath, down a private road, to the park. The donkeys wave. Two owls peer out. You have a toy airplane in your hand and make it sweep through the air. You lift it up to show the others, making it fly over their heads. Look! you say. Magic. I speak to you and your three little brothers who sit on their bikes, in height order, and stare at me as I jog pass. You tell me to look for the deer. My day takes on a new shape, loses some of its thorniness.
Speak to Strangers 