The orange disk, that is the promise of the day, creeps over the lip of the hill. A loud bang sends pigeons rocketing skyward, getting lost in the mist.
Whippet is making a racket. When I investigate, the post lady has shoved a large packet through my letter box. This is my much lusted after copy of a library book that failed to turn up on the bargain trolley, all the way from "the Amazon".
By the time I get where I am going the sun is shinning.
There are colonies of snowdrops drawing me on,
with smudges of color and tight buds, that hint of spring, everywhere I look.
Bit of that
Six inch Chinese dwarf wishes to meet
person with similar interests.
(written five feet up a wall in the Bodleian Library. Underneath was written)
ps This took considerable effort.
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