Lying on the grass at the top of our garden on Quickley Lane, the apple tree to my right, the silver birches behind me, the latter not yet condemned to death by the wasps' nest in their base. In the house, the rest of my family - mum, dad, brother, sister. Overhead, blue sky turning evening. Its the school holidays - near the beginning, not the end, so peace, and exciting, stomach-tingling thoughts of play. I turn and look at the grass up close: a ladybird; arcing blades of green; the world beneath my feet. I turn back to the sky - swallows flit about above: it is warm, it is quiet, it is infinite.
I'm called in for bed.