Quiet Afternoon

A grey afternoon. Quiet. An hour or two of stillness, though elsewhere on our planet a ferocious storm rages. But here a  gentleness is in the air, and in it an elusive foreshadowing of Spring,  as we dip further into the dark of winter: here in England, in the grey gold of the afternoon.  My granddaughter took her dog for for a walk in the fields.  The dog swam in a stream which crossed the pastures beyond the allotments and an old cowshed where hens and a cockerel potter in the mud.  My granddaughter’s pet romped in the grass and raced about to get dry. Then she, her parents and their beautiful dog came home for tea.  We’re on our way to Christmas and the days will, imperceptibly, get lighter again. And the Spring flowers will appear.

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