It was a Sunday

At least for the first few moments of my morning stroll

Then it became a Rainday.

Along the towpath Everyman and his dog

Not to mention his wives and children

Were heading towards Whitely Arches,

This elegance in iron, The   grandeur of its architecture

Its graceful outline spanning the canal.

You don’t agree?

Well, it was constructed by the same company who built the Sydney Harbour Bridge

No kiddin’.

I negotiate the puddles

Being careful not to kick the bucket

And brush aside the Danger of Death warnings.

To my left I catch a fleeting glimpse of foxes wearing green gloves

As they join battle for wall space

While Daisy and Fern cheerfully wave in the breeze.

But ‘just like the ivy I’ll cling to you.’

My Fairy Lady atop her barge meows

And goes in search of  Owl

So they can both ‘go to sea in a beautiful pea green boat.’

She doesn’t have far to look and I stop for a moment’s Indulgence

And draw up a chair to the sewing table, so neatly placed

But the Craft Snail has beaten me to it, so, feeling cross stitched

I repair to a stone bench and sink into  its mossy arms.

The sign tells me I’ve still 25 miles to go so I stop to hitch a ride.

If I were brave

I could paddle my own canoe to New Zealand,

But I’m not.

I spy a nearby car

And try to attract the driver’s attention ‘but answer came there none.’

So I’ll ‘sail away for a year and a day to the land where the Bong tree grows.’

It eyes me steadily and I retreat

And head for the Promised Land at the end of the rainbow

But like everything else at the moment it’s in shreds.