brightening but chilly
enjoying the swing of walking and fresh air
sat on the big Footpath > stone and drew the rhythmic lines of the dry stone walls, dark against vivid green fields
cars drone along the road out of sight - I imagine them like beads on a necklace threading along behind each other
breezes play through dry branches - no leaves to whisper yet
remembered to look at the buds with flowers inside the leaves. Rowan. Last year I made horrible cordial with the flowers. The first pony I rode was called Rowan, on holiday in Wales. And the farm lady used to pick ticks off the jack russell while she chatted.
I was a dead rabbit in the road being picked at by crows. I felt hollowed out by the image.
Now I am better. I can meet it.