Working late. The sun hits the hills, houses glow and windows shine. Dusk turns to night and we leave, to collect a son from the station, and return home.
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Towering, pewter clouds from the east and the first, fat raindrops bursting on paving, in canals. The air taut, waiting for the downpour to release it. The strangest, most gorgeous, most beguiling city I’ve ever visited.
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Bees making honey… in the sunshine… in the bee loud glade (with thanks to W.B. Yeats/Innisfree).
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