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#1
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The seasons turn
There was fog again this morning. Skeins of flies were huddling
lethargically under the eaves trying to find some scrap of warmth. The sun hit them and they were off into their last ephemeral mating, desperate and clinging. A host of wagtails grow fat chittering as they gorge. The hum of the bees on the cassia is audible inside the house. If any more come they had better randomise their movements or it will take off . The bats will leave soon and so leave my pomes in peace. The mulberry trees are pulling back into themselves and starting to look ragged. The melons still on the vine may ripen or not but the citrus are still pumping their fruit full of juice. Gaudy pink and grey pumpkins have been marshalled into heavy regiments on the verandah guarded by ratsak. Struggling tomato plants have given way to bare earth waiting for broad beans and snap peas to emerge. The ripe tomatoes must be turned to paste before they rot and the rest into green jam. The pasture is lush from steady late summer rain and the horses are dutifully fat enough to get through winter. Except for the old girl who isn't going to make it. She comes each morning and nickers for extra feed, I give it to her but we both know it will do no good. The seasons turn. David |
#2
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The seasons turn
"David Hare-Scott" wrote in message ... There was fog again this morning. Skeins of flies were huddling lethargically under the eaves trying to find some scrap of warmth. The sun hit them and they were off into their last ephemeral mating, desperate and clinging. A host of wagtails grow fat chittering as they gorge. The hum of the bees on the cassia is audible inside the house. If any more come they had better randomise their movements or it will take off . The bats will leave soon and so leave my pomes in peace. The mulberry trees are pulling back into themselves and starting to look ragged. The melons still on the vine may ripen or not but the citrus are still pumping their fruit full of juice. Gaudy pink and grey pumpkins have been marshalled into heavy regiments on the verandah guarded by ratsak. Struggling tomato plants have given way to bare earth waiting for broad beans and snap peas to emerge. The ripe tomatoes must be turned to paste before they rot and the rest into green jam. The pasture is lush from steady late summer rain and the horses are dutifully fat enough to get through winter. Except for the old girl who isn't going to make it. She comes each morning and nickers for extra feed, I give it to her but we both know it will do no good. The seasons turn. David Hey, That's not a bad piece of descriptive prose. Cheers, Dan |
#3
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The seasons turn
On Wed, 17 Mar 2010 10:31:04 GMT, " Dan" wrote:
Hey, That's not a bad piece of descriptive prose. Alcohol does that... |
#4
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The seasons turn
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#5
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The seasons turn
" Dan" wrote in message
"David Hare-Scott" wrote in message ... There was fog again this morning. Skeins of flies were huddling lethargically under the eaves trying to find some scrap of warmth. The sun hit them and they were off into their last ephemeral mating, desperate and clinging. A host of wagtails grow fat chittering as they gorge. The hum of the bees on the cassia is audible inside the house. If any more come they had better randomise their movements or it will take off . The bats will leave soon and so leave my pomes in peace. The mulberry trees are pulling back into themselves and starting to look ragged. The melons still on the vine may ripen or not but the citrus are still pumping their fruit full of juice. Gaudy pink and grey pumpkins have been marshalled into heavy regiments on the verandah guarded by ratsak. Struggling tomato plants have given way to bare earth waiting for broad beans and snap peas to emerge. The ripe tomatoes must be turned to paste before they rot and the rest into green jam. The pasture is lush from steady late summer rain and the horses are dutifully fat enough to get through winter. Except for the old girl who isn't going to make it. She comes each morning and nickers for extra feed, I give it to her but we both know it will do no good. The seasons turn. David Hey, That's not a bad piece of descriptive prose. I think it was better than 'not bad'. I thought it was delightful. Sorry to hear about the horse though David. |
#6
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The seasons turn
wrote in message ... On Wed, 17 Mar 2010 10:31:04 GMT, " Dan" wrote: Hey, That's not a bad piece of descriptive prose. Alcohol does that... Are you suggesting he was Nissed as a Pewt????? |
#7
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The seasons turn
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#8
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The seasons turn
On 18/03/2010 12:34 AM, FarmI wrote:
" wrote in message "David wrote in message ... There was fog again this morning. Skeins of flies were huddling lethargically under the eaves trying to find some scrap of warmth. The sun hit them and they were off into their last ephemeral mating, desperate and clinging. A host of wagtails grow fat chittering as they gorge. The hum of the bees on the cassia is audible inside the house. If any more come they had better randomise their movements or it will take off . The bats will leave soon and so leave my pomes in peace. The mulberry trees are pulling back into themselves and starting to look ragged. The melons still on the vine may ripen or not but the citrus are still pumping their fruit full of juice. Gaudy pink and grey pumpkins have been marshalled into heavy regiments on the verandah guarded by ratsak. Struggling tomato plants have given way to bare earth waiting for broad beans and snap peas to emerge. The ripe tomatoes must be turned to paste before they rot and the rest into green jam. The pasture is lush from steady late summer rain and the horses are dutifully fat enough to get through winter. Except for the old girl who isn't going to make it. She comes each morning and nickers for extra feed, I give it to her but we both know it will do no good. The seasons turn. David Hey, That's not a bad piece of descriptive prose. I think it was better than 'not bad'. I thought it was delightful. Sorry to hear about the horse though David. He's obviously got (the 'orse)it on drugs. David's struggling tomatoes were obviously planted in a climate oblivious to the many needs of tomatoes. Melons round my place dont face indecision, being planted by a computer programmer. They know they're going to die, and being the hero's they accept their fate. No wimpy fruits here. War like bats are welcome. I've been taken them out for years. Ragged Mulberries? Pulling themselves. Control yourselves sir. As far ars the cirtus goes. Disgusting behavior. What are you teaching your fruits sir! |
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