....is where many things are.

There was still an hour of daylight and Jack had not yet reached home.

He was tired.

His back ached. 

His holiday was over - the sea already just a memory.

He drove a little further and then stopped at the edge of a field, got out of the car and stretched.

Overhead birds were circling, others were resting – like him, but on the telephone wires stretching across the fields of unharvested, burnt-out sunflowers.

Their heads drooping as if they too were exhausted.

He returned to the car, and the engine - coughing back into life - startled the birds.

As one they rose into the blue October sky and continued on their way, heading south.

Jack was heading north.

Each to their own.

Home.

One Katie? Not enough.

One mile from her home, Katie stops and picks something from the grass at the side of the road. Then she starts walking again.

It’s hot, the sun is fierce so she is wearing a hat. She stops again and picks something else from the grass verge, and continues on her way. 

Away from where she lives.

Two miles from his, Jack pushes a little harder on the pedals, the road here begins its edgy climb to the village. 

He can see Katie but because of her hat and his weak eyesight he hasn’t recognised her yet. He sees someone stooping to the ground every so often and wonders what they can be gathering, it is not mushroom season. Too hot. Too dry.

He is almost level before he sees who it is, shouts a greeting and asks what she is collecting - Katie is known for her skill in the kitchen, as well as her local knowledge of plants and flowers. 

She says something in reply, framing a word he doesn’t recognise. His hearing is equal to his vision, so he makes a half turn in the road and pulls up alongside. 

“Show me,” he suggests. “That way I will recognise it.” 

He is already imagining the feast he will prepare later, though secretly he hopes it is a summer mushroom of which he is until this moment, ignorant.

“This.” She holds up a short length of faded blue plastic. It looks like a straw.

“What is it?” he asks. “It looks like a straw.”

“It’s a straw,” she confirms, confusing jack a little more. “They are everywhere; the Dolphins hate them.” Jack looks up and down the road, not a dolphin in sight.

“Ah, that’s why I haven’t seen any then.” It’s an old joke, one he likes. 

The sea is many many miles away.

“When they resurface the road, they just throw them in the grass. It’s a never ending plastic waste.”

“How far are you going?” He asks, concerned that she will still be out after dark. “The town?” 

The town is not as far as either the sea or ocean, but it’s a long tramp.

“No, only as far as the Dolmen, then I’ll check the other side.”

Jack is ashamed. 

Katie doesn’t have to do this.

But she cares.

About where she lives.

Here.

Near the town.

On this planet.

Jack wishes her well and cycles on, but slower now.

Not because of the hill.

But because of the plastic which needs to be recycled sustainably.

Something that is not happening if it remains in the grass.

And one Katie is not nearly enough.