Monocloud Morning


Rain fell all night, light as spider silk. Fat water beads on the grass blades are splashing over my cheery Wellington boots, as I’m out with Dog in the fields on morning walk duty. I am not convinced that this can be the same water as last night’s delicate precipitation; part of the same costume, like netting and sequins, but not the same material. The sky is made of monocloud, softly overcasting the day. Dog explodes five pheasants from some reedy undergrowth by the stream, but later fails to take notice of a rodent which quietly vacates the path behind her. I see a waddling brown fur back in the thick grass, big for a mouse, small for a rat, and it disappears into a tunnel system under the blackberry thicket. 



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