What strikes me when I think about the van is the flow of the changing seasons.
The summer sunshine, reflecting off of red striped market stalls,
The autumn leaves collecting in the plastic window frames,
The hot cups of tea and precarious electric heater in the dead of winter,
Then spring, with its sense of promise and summer flowers beginning to push up through the soil.
And how with the seasons clients came and went,
And how with the seasons some clients stayed,
And how with the seasons I changed and grew,
And how with the seasons some of me stayed the same.