It is the pattern you may expect (following starry things), so
     that we may be exact. The sofa was our crib and I imagined
you on it - all perfect, all ready. Each second planned, kept
     quiet and the travel woke us, the carriage shook and we were
alive `please email me, to tell us to..., right round

the back of', we were lost again and these shall be
     the seasons. Spring warmly welcomed; outside the window
the ploughman busy in his field (fulfilling his task faithfully).
     God is thanked. Summer - at first refreshing (the views of
the seas are wonderful, wonderful) but soon clouds gather

and a storm breaks over Brighton - an imported electrical
     one (I think) from the Caribbean: all soft and
sensuous afterwards but in the heat alarming to us and we pray
     together. But soon these same clouds (the ones I wrote to you
about) charged in front: it was quite beautiful, we felt above

them, circulating, travelling by air and not seeming to pass
...