The filtered light splinters through the penciled pines, outlining the the cracked bitumen corner, as the column shifts into gear and skirts with the day old snow lay melting over brown needles in a dance. Tyre grooves take on gravel like remora, and halt to a stop in awe. The dust coated handle opens to remove boots. Step in, listen softly; curiosity is in endless supply. Let yourself sink without touching the sides. Take a trip to Marvel Lake.

Written, performed, and recorded by David Rylands, September 2020.