Dear Clarence,

Dear Clarence,

Writing the first line has made me realise that you most likely won’t ever read my letter, and so some would deem this a pointless venture. If you are still alive please do take a shit on their heads. Take a shit from beyond the horizon, make it fly from high. You shit on their heads when I cant you know. I tried once Clarence. I’m not sure if it was before or after I met you, or more precisely caught you on my Grandma’s roof. It was at the old house. I apologise for that Clarence. I have a clear conscious when I tell you that I was a boy. I had it completely but didn’t understand the truth of freedom. Something happens when you grow up. It steps of out rhythm. In a way you become your own prisoner. Anyway I remember I climbed up the wild chestnut tree close to my Grandma’s. I took down my pants; waiting for somebody to happen my way.

And someone did you know. There was an old man who always gave me old candies he bought for his grandchildren. The plastic rappers splintered on sticky hard boiled candy when opened. He was the only person that walked that way. Though I had no heart to shit on his head. There was something wrong with it already.
I don’t know if you’ll remember the tree. It used to hurt my neck, it was so tall, a lot taller than you and me. About twenty meters from the back wall by the little wood. Anyway; it is not important. So I held there and waited and nobody else came under that way, til I realised that I didn’t feel like taking a shit. I hitched up my pants and climbed down to the footpath. But Clarence; if you are flying above some heads that you see beneath, please shit on them. Because most likely, and you are going to have to take my word it, they deserve it. The strange thing is, they will like it. They will think its luck. And maybe it is.

Aside from that I don’t know what else you should know. What happened in the meantime? The life happened I guess. Things that were meant to happen long before we met each other. I grew older, even though I often claim different. And that’s it, maybe I shouldn’t you know. People are meant to grow up, those strange creatures beneath you without wings. Only a few learn how to fly Clarence, some don’t even know that they can at all. I think it was you that started it, you that taught me I could fly. Long after you left I dreamt I was soaring between cobbled clouds in the ripening light. The silence of the enormous sky. I felt the wind on my face polishing the vales and green hills with trees on them. Later in my life world I see the whole mountains without trees just mountain ridges that divided the way ahead. You may have flown above them. But what am I doing telling about the sky anyway. You know it. It was yours before, during and after your life. I think of you today Clarence. Tomorrow I probably won’t, and that is also life.

Yours, for a moment

Gareth Davies