A lazily whorling vortex of gulls is sharply, prettily white against the lively green of the pasture in the evening light.
The harsh, anaerobic odour of slurry tells me why.
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Up the road or down, sometimes further afield, often not for long, we're out most days.
1 comment:
This is a great post to begin on! It already tells me that yours isn't going to be the selective vision of a writer out for quaintly picturesque, pastoral vignettes. It occurs to me that your location in Brittany and situation as an expatriate might actually help by making you hyper-aware of potential cliches in writing and thinking.
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