Tony Grist (poliphilo) wrote,
Tony Grist

Twelfth Night

The nights are shrinking back. A week ago we were getting up the moment before dawn, now we're getting up at first light. The sky this morning- at around a quarter to eight, when I was going out to feed the rabbits- was streaked with band after band of flimsy, pinky-orange cloud.

The spring has subsided, leaving behind a smeary patch of mud. The puddles and streams have gone too. The watercourse that tilts through the lower field is, however, doing brisker business than usual- with water running over rather than under the grasses at the bottom.
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