Robins sing in fluent concerto, pussy willow tentatively beads its twigs, and a clump of dotted frogspawn gel floats in the shallows.
Yet winter is loath to loosen its grip.
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Up the road or down, sometimes further afield, often not for long, we're out most days.
1 comment:
How evocative, Lucy.
Perfect description of this time of year that cannot decide, like a cat at an open door, whether it wants to stay or go!
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