Summer came and passed away
Hardly seemed to last a day,
But it's over,
And what can I do.
Music playin' in the air,
Silence on a darkened stair,
'Cos it's over,
And what can I do.
It's over, it's over, all over,
It's all over now.
And the way you look
Don't even mean I'm down.
When you kick out the sea
And the sun says goodbye
There is nothing
Much to speak of.
Lookin' over sunny days,
Searchin' for the righteous wave,
'Cos it's over,
And what can I do.
Lookin' from this distant shore,
You ain't sailin' by no more,
'Cos it's over,
And what can I do
It's over, it's over, it's over,
It's over...
I found myself immersed in nature. Lord Alfred Boothworthy-Spinks encouraged me to take the air, and join him for a spot of salmon fishing at one of the northern estates. He expounded on about my pallid demeanor and about 'The Great Outdoors' as if it were a cure-all for city living. It wasn't working - I was not made for all this 'fresh' air. I found the green tinge of nature reminiscent of Matron's medicine at school.
"There's nothing more like days of sport along a winding river!" He enthused.
So, we sat upon a tiny craft and floated on the water. The social smiles a hard disguise between college friends with years between us. Alfie had 'Army Life' written through his core. I had not.
My companion was pointed out verdant, luscious, country and rocked the little vessel as he gestured. The musical, gurgling eddies played and were lost, but in an instant, as the boat capsized. We trudged ashore, wet and winded and climbed the bank leading to a field full of huge, dirty sheep.
"I think I've escaped the city air for far too long this summer." I turned and squelched toward the house with sodden flanks
"Well, maybe next time we'll take dogs and shoot ourselves a rabbit?"
"Oh, no, my friend. I think not. The country air is yours to keep, it does my asthma no good, and I like my rivers on canvas - not in me."
(246 words) |