Taking a Walk Down a Country Lane In Summer

    Prologue

       The little van is small and worn. Not huge to accomodate an entire house, or allow the room to dance ans spring. And neither so small one could not reach out your hands no wider than the elbows. Tall enough to stand just crooked, young enough to start an adventure and old enough to have others to tell.

       The brightly painted door should close but hangs an inch too askew to be firmly shut. Windows, with yellow spotty curtains line the inside, apart from those small even gaps where they dont and the sloped wooden roof is thinly covered with strawberry plants.

       Not enough as i would have liked, but the plants that havent quite flowered yet scent the air with freshness and sweets, and soon tiny green beginnings of fruit will grow as the sun begins to return. All manner of pale yellows and blues and reds and a little green, the caravan settles in her hollow, tall wheels relaxed into the soft, damp grass and polished leather horse harness lying gently on the grass for when we begin again to move.