The most gorgeous places are sunlit and sweet. Best in summer time. Caught in memory, amber, nostalgia and sepia longings. We sat out in heaven. Well, that was what we called it. Slipping and tripping in the dark across woods and fields, dancing down the railway tracks. Feet skittering over the rails as our voices lifted along with our Walkmans. Holding hands and peering up dizzily at the trees through the fading dusk to find our way. You go out of the village across the common then by way of the field with the big oaks, up to the train tracks and you’re about a mile from the river when…