Morning

This morning, the red-tailed hawk sitting in the same place in the same sycamore tree in the park where I saw her yesterday. Dear old Sophie, the grey-muzzled dog who i’ve seen in the mornings now for several years, walking with her owner, “Come on Sophie,” he always says, kindly. Even through the sense-blocking muddle of the cold that won’t leave I could smell the leaves composting in blankets on the ground. Too warm for November 11th and we need rain very badly.

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