May. 7th, 2022

puddleshark: (Default)
A grey morning, but the rain forecast for last night never arrived. In the forest, stonechats scolding from perches in the gorse, a distant cuckoo calling.

The ash trees are coming into leaf, some weeks after the oaks. Late, but elegant.

Litter collected on this morning's walk: torn-up scratchcards.

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puddleshark

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