It was a 9 boxer, but a bit brutal, a bit functional. No edges, just the centre; all the posts and trees still wear their cuffs. Unfortunately I met a frog on the way, but it wasn't one of those embarrassing encounters where you just disable a leg and have to watch them hop in circles because you are too squeamish to finish the job properly, no. It was a proper brain pate event.
It was only a week ago on Friday that I noticed the leaves breaking on the apple trees. That weekend there was a peacock butterfly and a comma. Monday I saw that the custard maple was flowering. Pink cherry opened cheekily last week, to drop and carpet the floor before a light shower on Friday that swept up all the petals to piles.
Some camellias have bloomed patchily this year, looking as though the frost scorched their buds at the wrong time. The tulip flowered magnolias though seem unscathed and are bright beacons in gardens everywhere.
I passed a ditch this morning, lined now with slowly baking green slime. whether due to drainage or the last three dry weeks I don't know, but I seem to remember water in that ditch for a year - since it began to rain last April.
I snook a morning away from my desk and went to almost paddle by the sea. Wearing a jumper, but feeling warm in shelter, I sat a few minutes and groomed beach gravel; just long enough to find a fossil tooth. The folk there were all cheery; happy to share the sun and a few words each according to their need for solitude and the sea. I could have stayed, but I had the wrong sandals and nothing to drink and the usual lingering guilt.
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