Some days are like this:

It’s 11am, you’ve got everything to do but it’s warm, sunny even, and you feel good. So you pack a small picnic and a couple books and head out. But there’s nowhere you really want to go. So much choice, but you’ve been to all the local parks each a dozen times this year, it feels like, and it’s nearly May. So you get on a bus and read.

The sun’s heat through the window is gentled by a breeze from the open windows. Voices rise and fall around you. Sometimes you look out the window and see a church, or houses, or shops. In your ears, Coldplay sings this is all I ever wanted from life.

Back at the bus station, it’s nearly two. A bus station. You look at the destination and think, I haven’t been there in ages. It’s local, but a lot of places are. It has house, too, and shops and green spaces, but in different combinations.

You get on the bus.

This time you see birch trees with canopies like umbrellas, little roads and lawns full of clover. Streets called The Dell only lead to yet more houses if you get off the bus and look. You stay on the bus and imagine. The sun is still warm. The sky is blue, littered with candy floss clouds. And then there’s a brief burst of fields. Spring fields, full of green, and loved orchards. You pass Deadmans Lane and wonder.

You’re the only one on the bus. The driver pauses to have a smoke. A nearby clock could tell you the time, but you don’t pay it any attention.

By the church, you decide. You’ll give the dead some company.