tempus fugit

By ceridwen

Heading home

A beautiful day, calm, sunny and warm for once, warm enough for washing to dry on the line and for cats to lie out on the slate slabs, a day for tussling with ivy and brambles, secateurs and saw.

In the evening I walked down to the coast where gulls and guillemots were raucously arguing over nesting ledges. The sea had taken on the appearance of a bowl of milk. A fishing boat chugged towards the harbour carrying a single pinprick of light.

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