THE UNCEASING FIRS
The barbaric cold wages an old and familiar war on feelings of safety and rhythm while walking. Hale the dark green shadowy Harlestone.
The firs, unchanged and imposing block aid from the warming sun.
He looks to have misjudged the elements today.
He takes up my offer of a drive to Rugby belatedly.
Inside the warm car we can both sate our contemplative nature.
TIM SANSOM 5TH NOVEMBER 2006
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