Added on Wednesday 30 May 2012
(Written at the writers group, Coach House Trust, 84 Belmont Lane, one Tuesday in May)
Seldom comes the chance to see the dream fulfilled.
Such days and dates are rare, and usually come upon you sidewise like a slinking ferret from its lie. It's like walking widdershins around a tree, or seeing Jabberwockies in the corner of the eye.
Biggar's Lanarkshire streets were hot as sidewalks in L.A. The colour washes beige and pastel gray. The day's last stop was the local bookshop, just down the road and not so very far away.
I dropped in Dear Miss Landau's flyers, but of my fine blue spine I saw no other sign. Accepting fate's vagaries, I guessed the moment was not mine.
I talked to the lad at the desk of Gardners and books and metre and more, trying and failing not to seem a sad and silly bore.
But just as I was heading out the door, I saw the Jabberwocky low and left, right down there by the floor.
Five fine copies stacked in style. A sixth vert tall and on display.
Dear Miss Landau in the light of day, in that little bookshop just along the way.