The Winter Lamb
I’m sat on the 9.25am train out of Cardiff Central to London Paddington. We’re somewhere a little short of Bristol, and I’m looking out of the window, mainly because I should be writing.
There are lambs everywhere. Lambs? In February? Maybe the last 16 years in have put me further out of touch with the country than I though, but lambs this early in the year just seems wrong to me.
Oh, heck, I am become… a Londoner. I now like my rural world to exist in regular, defined patterns. I should know better.
Yes, hello, it’s me, I’m back.
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