We hopped on our bikes and I skidded out of the drive-way, almost falling over. The brakes of the bike squeaked -- "let's go" I yelled.
It was late in the afternoon, maybe it was early evening - as we rode down the back roads, black bugs stuck to my shirt, arms, legs, face, hair, glasses. I was covered in them by the time we reached the old house. "Look, there are still a few poppies" she said. I snapped some pictures. You could hear a tractor rumble past on the road, about a mile east of where we were. "This is dad's old house, he grew up here". It was the first time she had brought me. The bikes were parked by the old canal where he still goes fishing. The water moved fast, washing under the house. The very first time I came to visit her and her family, I thought all the canals led to Venice. It's a nice thought that you could get in a small boat and paddle your way to the city, into the grand canal and back home. "Look", she said, pointing to the gathering clouds "we should probably go". We jumped back on our bikes - cameras full of images.
The water still rushing - birds overhead - the storm arrived later and pushed the humidity away, just for a moment.