Dry.
Cold. Not quite frosty.
Windless.
Mistless.
Stars still visible whilst awaiting the arrival of the bus.
Now dawn's rosy fingers rapidly being replaced by the sun rising over Margam in a golden glowing sky unsullied by clouds.
And the limb of the sun peek's over the hill.
To begin another week of joy & hilarity.
152 days to go.
Not that I'm counting or owt, of course.
8 weeks to Xmas. Not that I'm counting or owt, of course.
Cold. Not quite frosty.
Windless.
Mistless.
Stars still visible whilst awaiting the arrival of the bus.
Now dawn's rosy fingers rapidly being replaced by the sun rising over Margam in a golden glowing sky unsullied by clouds.
And the limb of the sun peek's over the hill.
To begin another week of joy & hilarity.
152 days to go.
Not that I'm counting or owt, of course.
8 weeks to Xmas. Not that I'm counting or owt, of course.
Comment