Mist over the common this morning: the trees appear through it like feathers, soft and pale.
In the window of the picture framing shop are a variety of prints and reproductions. And one mirror. Or is it a portrait ? And if it is, of whom?
Watching leaf buds unfold. They are packed with power, charged with life. The compact, unfurled leaves of the horse chestnut look like the fingers of a clenched fist. The green is dazzling, lit by the power of rising sap. Leaves are lovely but buds are beautiful.
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