I can see a white horse grazing in the paddock across the damn. It looks ethereal in the afternoon light, as if I’ve dreamt her. There’s an old cycle-powered pontoon with an umbrella on the banks and a family of ducks paddling across the way. I can hear birds in the sky and a singular, moaning cow from afar. Tonight I will watch Emma on DVD from a fold-out sofa, after having dinner and reading my book at the pub.
For now, I will write to you from this small balcony in the trees.