Up the road or down, sometimes further afield, often not for long, we're out most days.
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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