Bucket of coffee.
It’s a bright morning.
Bracing in the lane.
The wind turbine over the valley at Marian Mawr is working again and there is enough breeze to have it turning, albeit slowly.
The woodpecker is busy.
And early too, as it’s just past six.
I am pink,
Pink after a hot shower
And I feel as clean as you only used to feel the Sunday night before school.
Dorothy is sulking,
And has adopted a strange position in the kitchen reading chair
She knows I’m off to work