1. Rainbows fill the room. The dog has one on her chest as she waves her paws in the air. There is another on my legs. They dance across the ceiling.
2. The dew glistens on the cobwebs laced between the neighbours’ railings.
3. The woods have never been lighter or brighter. The trees are naked, the floor mottled in yellows and brown. We wander hither thither, along paths that don’t exist in the summer, then we sit on the bench above it all and talk.
1. The table is full of food and we all graze and chat in the sun.
2. One of Lily’s best friends (a white Staffy called Tia) breaks loose from her owner and comes running up our garden to play. Lily hears her approach and gives a plaintive groan – she’s not allowed down to that bit of the garden without our supervision. I follow her out and they run around together before Tia’s owner calls her back.
3. The size of the towns & villages decreases the further we move out from the city but soon we’re there. The fuzzy black dog wanders around lazily in the sun, unperturbed by the loud turkey and when he opens the barn door, she sits down inside amongst the chickens. He bundles four of the ginger birds into our box and we take them home.
© 2024 Louisa Parry