Man, horse and cart wait at the railway station, picking up wares
and delivering them to local shops. Every July the man and horse
go on holiday to the countryside, so his animal can eat fresh grass
and trot about on soft soil, while the man sits on a stone fence
smoking his pipe. A frosty day, the horse fell on icy road, it was
not the same after that, it was off its hay, lost weight, had to stop
often up hills, for a rest. The vet shook his head too late, nothing
he could do for the beast.
The man got a hand cart, tried to deliver parcels around, but could
not push heavy loads; fell ill, took to his bed and vanished into
blue yonder. There is a green field on the countryside if you go
there in July you will on a misty dawn, when the ash tree is
covered in gossamer, see a man sitting on a stone fence, smoking
his pipe whilst his horse, grazes on green lushness. But you must
go before the field is turned into a posh housing estate and
fairy tales die in the glare of street lamps and prowling patrol cars.
