Hissing of the Summer Lawns

It’s a bit like when I was fourteen and my English teacher asked the class to imagine future obituaries for ourselves as some sort of morbid writing exercise. I think the idea was to begin justifying our existence, and start thinking about ways to make a difference. Anyway, I ended up producing six and a half pages about how I had been a little known aviator whose plane had been lost over the Bermuda Triangle. For this, I was sent to see the school counsellor who then informed my mother I was drinking too much caffeine, had an over-active imagination, and maybe should consider a round of anti-depressants. You see, I didn’t know how to explain myself very well then, either…