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.


Plutarch said...

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.

Lucy said...

Not a bit, no limit on comments!
Thanks Joe.