Meg and the Sun

Daybreak dangled in foggy strips. Mizzle had mugged the day, grey-flecked cuckoo spit smuggled summer under hoary roots. Bill formed an Indian gang to snatch the light back. Later, parting the scalp of a hedge we saw the sun tangled in an old hawthorn. Meg, (Bill’s sister), wanted to shin-up and dislodge it. There was a chance we would see her knickers so we gave her a leg-up. Her skinny limbs snaked through the spiky twigs. Half-way to the top the sun cut loose, drifting beyond her reach. Meg whooped and almost fell. We boys grinned as her bare legs slide down onto our shoulders. Bill looked at us as if we were all crazy.