Widows and windows

January 22

I passed several people in the High Street, some young, some old, and could not guess who it was with the ganja smoke waft.  Muddled thoughts – I have been painting window frames this morning – the sashes reminding me of my old house.  I listen to the story of the woman who chained herself to a tree to prevent it being felled.  At the parish council meeting they discuss the problem of a lonely swan on the Mill pond, her mate killed by a passing car.

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