Washday Blues
I woke with a start; It’s 6am! Damn, I overslept. I never oversleep. Well only sometimes. Ever since I can remember I’ve woken around dawn, as those first rays of light peek around the edge of the curtains and slide under the door.
I stumble downstairs, making it to the back door first (quite a feat this), without tripping over the dogs and cats scrapping for poll position. The cats always win – they streak out – the dogs following like greyhounds out of the traps. All in good fun!
Silence! Only an odd Woodpigeon coo-cooing in the distant wood and the squawk of a startled pheasant.
A pale moon hangs above the old hill-fort. The cerulean-blue sky crisscrossed with misty white contrails – a new day, a new canvas; paint thrown casually from the artists brush …
hanging out
our winter woolies
first swift
