A Yorkshireman displaced

Random acts of gentle whimsy were visited upon us by grandmothers and anglican priests and indie kids in turquise t-shirts. We sat in cafes in foreign lands drinking coffee until 4am, fluorescent light playing tricks on our eyes as overhead fans beat out drum ryhthms. We watched the waves come and go in the south china seas and flung ourselves at the tide. We stood on mountaintops and conversed with birds. We are the aurora borealis and the dust in your hair, we are the frost on your window panes and the first green leaves of autumn. We are all made out of the carbon that once resided in the heart of long dead stars. We are life itself.