I suppose you could say you're standing there, waiting. I suppose. You're standing there and nothing is really happening. At least, not much of anything is happening. And not much of it is happening at any one time. So when you look back, to see what it was all about, it looks like you must have been waiting. Did it all arrive on time. Did it keep you waiting for long. Once upon a time there must have been a place where a telephone never rang. I was sitting down and then I was standing up and a voice said "Hello". Three telephone calls later we finally came to the conclusion that thee was nothing at all we could do. You may have had a strange voice, but it was nothing on your mind. You brought your pop-up sprinkler system over from Florida with you, all packed neatly into your suitcases. And you were laying it all in Northampton. And there really is no need for garden irrigation in Northampton. You were laying pipes, and the first thing you met was a land drain, put in to take all the surplus water away. So you hired an excavator to remove the land drain, and you drove it into a pond by mistake. So I wonder how your irrigation is going now. I filled out a form today designed to tell me who I was. It was full of simple questions with yes/no answers and at the end of it all there was a key that scored points for the answers, and told me all I could ever want to know. I scored thirty-eight, which first of all didn't seem like many, but finally it seemed like too much. So that is who I am. I was expecting another telephone call that never came which is a strange sort of frustration. There is nothing at all that can be done. I look back and realise that nobody ever calls back. It's not one of the things that ever happens. There is somethig about telephone calls that makes them very difficult to repeat. It makes them all much more difficult the second tme. So one of the telephone calls that was repeated once will not be repoeated a second time. A week away from expectation and that is all it will be. So really this is how a person says goodbye. Forehead presses on the back of a hand. Gentle joining of mind and body. A start. A short start. A long space and then three broken trees. You can hardly miss it. Listening. Standing. Being an observer in a sphere that is moving without regard. Without undue regard to me. Standing. Listening. Waiting for the trees to grow to hide behind. The corky bark of years laid down will clothe you again and over all over. So one of the purposes in talking to you is talking to you. Your voice flows through the wire continually. I didn't understand to begin with that you wanted to talk to somebody. That was one of the things I didn't understand to start with. I could feel the fear in your voice. I could feel your fear fighting with the static on the line. It doesn't seem to understand anything but the crackling static. It makes no difference what you understand it is never enough. Never enough.
Thin ink lines sketch out an ugly imitation of a Hollyhock. Thick grey paper imitates quality for people who can only measure in millimeters. Over and over the fear in her voice comes over again. Standing. Carrying nothing alien into this place. Carrying nothing that is not needed with you.
The door opens and then the doorbell rings. It is somebody to buy plants that are not for sale. It happens that way sometimes.
Driving down to collect the lawnmower because it will be working again by now. Driving down to the industrial estate. Driving down I realise the place gets uglier and uglier with every passing day. The tarmac that was smooth and clean is marked by repair work inelegantly performed. With every new block the place becomes uglier and uglier and each new patch of tarmac creates an obstruction. I suppose it isn't really surprising to note the lawnmower worked after that.