What I remember of the flat landscape was the immense sky, I could see next farm miles away, smoke arising from its chimney. The wind blew from the sea and I could taste bitter tears on window panes. In the hollow, a lake, gone in spring, but in winter it is and ice rink and I was going to win the world record in skating. Round and around I skated till I had an epiphany, I was back In the city slums and poverty, I lost the link between dream and reality, my father wasn’t a drunk; so I skated on in a dance of denial. Tired I have won the race against my horrors. Victorious I sat on cooling snow, one day I’ll be a captain and master the westerly wind. A voice reaches me, five o’clock and milking time. But the voice I hear has a dreaming quality, perhaps I’m a child, thrown into a world of a callous god where church bells tolls of sex abuse, shame, deaths and utter damnations.
