A cold front is
moving through. Cold front, he says, with low in the mid-40s, that's no cold front! A grey cast to the morning. Even the birds are subdued.
The sun wants to break through the overcast. Dandelions - fully fluffed - are waving in the cool breeze in our back yard. Our lilacs are bright purple and scented.
There are houses in the village which needed paint - at least four of them along Main Street. I sound like a judge: you and you and you and you.
There are high grey clouds with a low dark front taking about half the sky from the northwest. It is a dark blue smear on the canvas.
The wind objects to my direction. Objection overruled.
A small girl is riding her bicycle into Ripon - to school, one suspects. Her mother accompanies her in the family van. Is this practice for next year?
I see a car the same model as one I used to own. I barely recognize that I've had one like it. You get to a certain age, I think, and you give up loving every car you've ever owned. Your heart is not large enough for all of them.
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