Sunday’s Cold…

It was dry. Cold and dry is better than cold and wet in my book. So we went for a walk but there were hunters out in the woods we wanted to visit so we went the other way, past the farm. The views from here to the forested Andaine hills are fabulous. The sky feels higher here than anywhere else,

The church catches the last of the sun. At a half-past-four there is little of it left, and what remains is courtesy of the clear sky. I cast about for the rising full moon but it is still lying below the horizon.

The neighbours come gallumphing up to the hedge and peer through the scrappy remains of bramble and blackthorn. I remember I have to get back home to get a cake out of the oven, so we don’t chat for long. They race me back up the hill. The cake is done to perfection.

About 14thcenturypoet

Author of The Legend of Zonza, an historical fantasy based on traditional Italian folk tales...
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