There's a glorious silvery sunset shimmering over the flat-topped hill in the distance. The rooks are gathering on the slopes of the field as I walk the spaniels this evening, and then the birds sweep upwards, popping and cackling in the late October wind, as if to say, you can try as hard as you can but you can't catch me.
The youngest spaniel runs off pointlessly into the distance and my gaze is punctuated by lots of plumes of smoke stretching for miles. Here and there, people are stoking garden bonfires and thinking about putting a match to the logs and newspaper in the grate.
The crunchy, crunchy leaves and the now squashed crab apples litter the path as I make my way back home.
Today, I have been learning about Greek shamens and sorcerers, a suitable subject for a mature student from an enchanted village.
On my way to university this morning, I saw a county council workman sitting on the pavement opposite my house, looking like a scrunched-up scarecrow, his hood up to hide away from the wind. It seems his sole purpose is to sit there all day to make sure the 'diversion' sign doesn't blow over.
Up the lane past Mr and Mrs Sheepwash, a policeman who looked barely out of his teens was doing a fingertip search along the riverside. A trail of sheep's wool was strewn along the path. The
shearing machine belonging to Celebrity Farmer's father has disappeared.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
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That's about it. Love Maddie x