Monday, 1 April 2013

Siena morning

There's a man hanging washing in the small garden under our window. He's wearing white trousers, a jacket and a flat cap. He slowly pegs a black shirt onto the line, then turns and goes inside. Small leaves and pebbles crunch under his feet, as the sun works hard to break through the clouds. The black shirt flaps gently in the breeze, and small leaves drift around the garden. All is well.

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