Midsummer. Afternoon.

The wheel of the year continues to turn. We walk in a day carved out as the longest. Maybe with a sense of obligation, the sun shines down. My children gaze up at a horse chestnut tree, in the shade filled with an irrational, unseasonal hope.

They mark out the year only by conkers and snow.

 

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Even the starlings were sunbathing.

 

 

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4 thoughts on “Midsummer. Afternoon.

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