Horseshoe for luck
There was a wooden bridge, near the farm,where I lived - a few years- as a child,I often sat under it loo
king at the clear, softflowing water and I could see tiny fishesswimming about, sometimes they came tothe surface to have a look at me; when horse and cart crossed the bridge fine dust fell and shimmered as gold. This was my secret place,I kept things here like rusty nails, a whistle,coloured stones and a shiny horseshoe
When I came back here years later, no one could remember a river, I must be mistaken it was said; mind there used to be a tiny stream here, but it was filled in years ago. The farm had been replaced by a business park, people with hard dreams worked here. A petrol station, tarmac roads and cafés, yes, the future had won “Never been a farm here, they said. In a ditch I found a rusty horseshoe and knew my memory was not a dream