There was an
old red rug that I used to lie on in the garden. It was furry fiery orange red
and it smelt of sunshine and warmth. When it got too hot or I tired of reading I’d
roll onto the lawn and chew the white ends of sweet grass blades and make daisy
chains and daydream grand romances. Our dog also loved that rug. She used to
gather it up and hump it, even though she was a girl. I suppose she was daydreaming
of grand romances too.
