23.1.18 Telegraph wires over the back garden
I've got a thing about overhead wires. I can see some from every window in my house. I like the spaces between them, like someone's cut up the sky and pieced it back. I like the way they stretch from house to house, that we're all still joined up like that, all threaded together.
I want to attach paper cups to the ends of them and shout and find out if you can hear me. I want to tug at them and see if someone at the other end tugs back. I want to flick them and watch them bounce and startle the starlings, use them to fire water balloons a mile or more. I want to run along them, feel the tension and release of them in my soles. I reckon I could cross the whole country like that. I'd go see who sits at the other ends of them.
My one complaint is that they're only black or silver. I want colours. You could pick yours and I could pick mine and we'd crisscross the town like May revellers.
I expect they'll be gone one day. We'll find a more sophisticated, more hidden way of things and I will miss them. We need more reminders that we're all attached, I think, not fewer of them. I worry we're forgetting.