The midday temperature has been up around thirty the last couple of days. Too hot to garden during the day, I was pulling weeds from the gravel alongside the wood store at half past ten last night.
The western horizon up behind Monsieur F's field with the winter wheat was still glowing orange and in the pale turquoise sky above me two bats were playing chase.
The water canon spat and swished in the sugar beet field below the cottage and a nightingale sang.
And across the grass the pool invited me to a late swim, blue and cool in the dusk light.
sheer poetry N x
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