All was crisp and quiet.

We walked at the brisk pace of suburban mums, while we spoke of our fathers and our fears. We passed through a neon-stained tunnel under the rail line, beneath a loud clunking and clattering. But when we emerged, the train had passed and we gazed across a silent building site of new houses planted upon the green fields. They grow quickly to feed the newlyweds, hungry to exit the city and find themselves a raw edge to stare out across.

The caterpillars slumbered now, on this bleeding edge of concrete and field, ground newly conquered, freshly formed into an idealized domestic sphere, a place where there are no cracks in the pavements.