I was going through half finished word documents from last year (there are a fair few with beginnings of characters and ideas started then abandoned) and found this. It’s a poem I wrote for my brother in December which I considered making into a picture book before I got into the falcon idea. Maybe I’ll get it done this year, though. In fact, maybe I’ll do a collection of story-poems based on Edinburgh streets and illustrate the whole thing… if you think that idea has legs, please leave a comment!
The background to this one is that my brother and I were crossing Great King Street in Edinburgh and both slipped on a wee patch of black ice. However, the temperature was a balmy 6 or 7 degrees and there was no ice or snow or anything anywhere else – so naturally we got suspicious. Why was that bit icy, when everywhere else was fine? Clearly the answer was magic.