You sometimes see one half of a pair of shoes abandoned in a field or by the road side, less often a wellington boot. In our twitten, (the little path that runs between the back gardens of houses in parallel streets), near the dustbins, lies a lone wellie.
Passing cars have pressed flat onto the tarmac the fallen leaves of the lime tree on the bend opposite; a rich mosaic of of reds, browns, ochres results.
A group of oldies follow a man in a brown suit into the Grove. He seems to be giving a guided tour. He stops and turn towards them as they gather round. It begins to rain. All the oldies open their umbrellas; he has no umbrella. As I pass, I catch the phrase "...in the eighteenth century ..."
Thanks for the invitation to add my 3BTs. I shall.
1. Our rugby team won the national championship tonight!
2. My son and daughter made $2 tickets for our family to attend the game in our lounge room stadium with "no discount for senior citizens".
3. My daughter vacuumed the house without being asked. She's 8.
Sounds like a good day, a beautiful thing in itself, when everthing goes right.
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