Yesterday in Gipsy Hill. Scrubby little flowers, next to an ordinary suburban driveway, suddenly seen in all their unexpectedness, and the surprise of how their delicate colours. It’s a thing that didn’t need to happen.
Then a little kid on the number 3 bus, singing a little song, over and over while his mum intermittently tried to tell him to stop. As happens from time to time with this little song, its words suddenly came into focus like the flowers, a little surprise reality. I’ve re-punctuated it slightly:
Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream,
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily. Life is but a dream.