“Mummy, if 10 x 10 equaled 50, would our paper planes fly straight?” I know the rain was heavy because the bedraggled underpass (with plinking echoes and the green glitter of smashed bottles) smells mysteriously of mint. I lift my nose and my voice to the early snare of Ravel’s Bolero adding other instruments as best I can. The bushes that march past are photinia hedges and domed topiary and the dog stops to pee. I peer into the leafy palisades and Bolero is interrupted by my throaty whisper “I can’t cry as prettily as you.” Even the blind bat must try to predict echoes.
Written for Miz Quickly QnV28 “answer a question as unsatisfactorily as it would normally be answered.”