I’m on the boating lake with Sean

I’m gently rowing and the birds look sewn to the surface of the water as it undulates to the sound of Sean talking beautifully about something I don’t really understand. But all I’m picturing are brown paper bags with little grease spots near the bottom seams that have recorded the way sausage rolls have touched them, or the thin waists of dogs as depicted in medieval hunting frescos, or a cherub’s fat little hand gesturing to a vista where smiling families are meeting to picnic with the animals that God has also saved, or I’m thinking about the mechanics of bagpipes, the legs and arms and the fat belly and the long neck with its holes. This has been the best day ever. Sean smiles. He’s wearing shorts, and so am I. It’s sunny! Mine are so short they may as well be underpants, and I still don’t understand a word that he is saying.