Gossip From The Cottages

The rain is dried up, so the field grass needs grabbing, makes the lane busy with rushed tractors. Wobbly trailers shake grass stacks, flurries of stalk fall out over the tarmac: smells rich, fresh, sweet all at once. It'll be like that, till the weather turns or the job's done.
Horseflies are biting.
Strawberries are cropping, you can pick a handful everyday. Some of them even make it home, but some fall in your mouth. It's how they are.
A broody Nextdoor Chicken has hatched one chick. It's set the others off broody now.
Everyone has washing out, windows open.
Elderflowers are on the turn: season's always over quick. Pick while you can, and never mind the staring. Sometimes a crowd will gather: just curious. It's all just how it is.


I know how those darned berries are; some of them always manage to fall into my mouth when I pick 'em, too.

Still raining here. If it doesn't stop soon, we're gonna rust.

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