Friday, 18 May 2012
The Three Strangers: Rush Hour in Blackborough
Normally he liked hedge-flanked
Devon lanes in which one could trace the year’s
progression: snowdrops, daffodils, bluebells, red campion...
Ahead, though, was a tanker delivering heating oil, the driver refusing eye contact; behind him a range-rover, occupied by a woman shrugging her don’t-expect-me-to-reverse gesture.
Late yet again: bugger bucolic bliss.
© Tim Scott
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