Up the road or down, sometimes further afield, often not for long, we're out most days.
Monday, 10 March 2008
Trédaniel plan d'eau, afternoon
Wet windy weather, the puddles aspire to be lakes, the lake a small sea, waves lapping. Trees roar and daffodils bob anxiously, up the hill a polytunnel's covering cracks angrily.
While walking yesterday before reading this post, I found myself thinking about puddles, and the pleasure of walking though them in wellies. For some reason I remember in particular an unmade road, where we lived, when I was about four years old, and one puddle in particular, where the clay made the water milky. Well done with the 30 words. Perhaps I should have confined this comment likewise.
2 comments:
While walking yesterday before reading this post, I found myself thinking about puddles, and the pleasure of walking though them in wellies. For some reason I remember in particular an unmade road, where we lived, when I was about four years old, and one puddle in particular, where the clay made the water milky. Well done with the 30 words. Perhaps I should have confined this comment likewise.
Not a bit, no limit on comments!
Thanks Joe.
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