The sun is shining, and there are bits of cloud, like strips of torn white paper thinly scattered over a sea of blueness. The green downs beckon from the wide yonder as if they are expecting us. On this morning of the last day of April, the air is sweet and fresh. We are minded of our promise to give ourselves a present, sharing some thoughts with each other.
The countryside is sometimes rambling, sometimes intimate, sometimes it makes associations en route, a touch discreet here, hidden secrets revealed there. The roads and paths on our journey twist and turn amongst the hills and valleys. Sometimes you might think you have lost your way, but that familiar intricate landscape still envelops, and caresses.
The sun is shining, and there are bits of cloud, like strips of torn white paper thinly scattered over a sea of blueness. The green downs beckon from the wide yonder as if they are expecting us. On this morning of the last day of April, the air is sweet and fresh. We are minded of our promise to give ourselves a present, sharing some thoughts with each other.
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