[an unfinished tale]
Spencer Mom lived in Ravenglass, in the northwest of England, where he was born in 1949.
During his childhood, he liked to visit near towns, that in those years -the years of the winds- did have all its streets covered in sand: Waberthwaite, Eskmeals, Saltcoats; all its sanded streets were blind witness of the Spencer legs walking by them, like a phantom...
Even some summer afternoons he durst walk to Bootle.
...As the blue-oval pearl of the daysky passed by behind his eyes...
The Christmas were practically rural at Ravenglass: some modern music of skiffle sounded by the speakers of the park in the centre of the town to remind us that it was a time of joy: the dry cold did cut the face skin in two.
When January came, in the winter, the snow used to fall in heavy way over the metallic roofs of the neighbourhood: Spencer Mom was there, like mesmerised with something that he couldn’t mind: what it was?
When January came, nuts were grilled over the fire: the television didn’t show but the streets of London in black and white: on the radio it could be heard African music; it was the BBC overseas, Spencer Mom tuned a show broadcasted from Rhodesia.
One day; Spencer Mom started walking towards the stars.
On the sidewalk, towards the stars.
Some say have seen him becoming progressively translucid, step by step.
The Sun of July was hitting on the sand of the streets.
.
