November 13, and these daffodil shoots are pushing through fallen leaves in the Grove.
Through the glass door of an antiques shop in the Pantiles, I see, past tables of glass and china, a window at the back of the shop; and through the window, another world, where Frant Road and its motor traffic, exists side by side with this more modest world designed for pedestrians.
From our bedroom window, this morning, I watch the steam rising from a central heating vent on the side wall the side of the house opposite. The rising sun catches this moving and ever changing, curtain of mist. Through it, we see the dark outlines of the trunk and branches of the tulip tree, which sometimes seem to be mere shadows on its surface, and sometimes shapes of a more solid and permanent kind.
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