I'd fly from my house and break clean into the great outdoors with my hair down my back. And if so the dull horsey colour of childhood, then if so ! - but i'd braid it so its tail would curl at the lowest part. It would gather up its momentum in drumroll surprise, with stuckered flowers and a swishing headlong breeze.
I'd be barefoot always because my shoes were too tight and they gleamed in the sunlight, crowding my head with the wrong picture of church &quiet &held hands. So instead I build my imagination with upraised hands and apple cross eyes, put lotion on my feet to better feel that sunshine suspension like a push. Takes me to the riverside where
i don't know about you but i
could look only ever down. Way into the watery blue of the upturned sky, that shell shock world of lifetimes which exist just because everything does. They continue so silent and apart from all this conscious breeze and the damp smell of the air, the nuances of browns twined together in the mud and the ground